Reflecting Darkness
by Jennie Arnold
Summary: Three people with nothing in common connect when an evil sorcerer tries to take over the land of Bantor.
1. Chapter 1

**Introduction:**

**From the Historic Vaults at Bantor**

This is the time to be alive: the orient during the silk age, Italy during the Renaissance… All these eras paled in comparison to the age I am about to describe: the age of love and adventure: the age of discovery. The time of Mystics and Pharaohs, the time of Hittites and Time Travelers… A time when magic was real and where anything could happen. This is when our story takes place. If anyone truly wants to get a picture of the vast period in the expanses of the mind, simply think of the wonders I have just described. Thinking of a time only shows a number and this is so much more than that. This is a civilization at its' highest peak that happened to be at its' breaking point…

Revolution is never a sudden thing: The people become critical of their ruler and the government even before the new king could take the throne. The old king was killed and the new ruler, Louis was threatened while he was still a child. Mobs came to his mother's door and demanded that the prince be brought before them to be crowned. Louis' nurse begged his mother to stop them from taking the boy but the queen believed that Louis was too young to understand what was happening anyway. She saw no reason to stop the commoners. The boy would only think it was a game. Of course, the young boy was terrified when he saw the mob covered in blood. He did not know that the blood was that of his own father.

The people of Bantor may seem like hard people who are bent on destruction. This assumption is not true. They are merely desperate people looking for a way out of their dyer situations. These people are literally fighting for their lives. They had asked the king to ease the burden he had placed on them but nothing seemed to get done. The peasants were literally starving! In their minds, it was either the king's death or their own. They resented the rising and unequal taxes, the persecution of religious minorities, and government interference in their private lives. The people of the kingdom wanted to take Louis in as their own. They thought that Louis would be able to see the evils of his father and turn away. Unfortunately, their wishes never came true. Louis was just as selfish as his father had been.

The young ruler started out, as the king the people had wanted. He established a better financial system of governing. Louis knew that the nobles all wanted to be in control. He wanted to keep his eye on them and gave each of them an invitation to live in the palace with him. If they declined his request, the noble family was forced to come. This treatment may seem harsh, but Louis had good reason to fear the upper class. In the past, barons from their own court overthrew many kings. The rest of the world's monarchs admired Louis. The other courts from all around came to Bantor asking for advice and came away with tales of grander. Dignitaries described the palace of White Stone as the jewel of the country. They did not see the turmoil that befell the streets of the lower sections of town. The nobles that saw the angry mobs in streets felt one of two things: greed or fear. Some nobles worried that a revolution would take place in their country and that they too would be overthrown. Others felt that this would be the perfect time to invade Bantor and take the crown for themselves. No one succeeded in their goal to take the country or to stop the rise of the new era of freedom. Not even the king could imagine what was about to begin.

Now, close your eyes and imagine a lush hillside full of life and safety. Nestled on the north side of a small hill sits a gleaming castle of white stone. The castle stands 120-quarter hands high, dwarfing the small wooden houses around it. There are green hills all around and a small forest in the south. Yet, the castle stands by itself while the wooden homes are grouped together in farm settlements. The hillside is speckled with bright red tomatoes and deep purple grapes. This is the only village called Bantor and in the gleaming castle sits the king, Louis who is not as gleaming or bright as the walls of the castle in which he resides. The castle looks clean and pristine, almost fragile. Luckily, the palace not only looks beautifully secure, it is secure but don't take the king's word for it: Invading countries tried to find a weak point to the castle but all they could see were strong stones and high walls. Everyone assumed that the king must have something very valuable in his palace, for it had a stronger security than even the royal treasury. No one knows the reason for the amazing level of security. The king did not put any walls or protection around the villages that supplied him with food or wool – or even the rich meccas that brought money – but the king's palace seemed to be the safest place in the whole kingdom.

The common people had no security in their lives. There seemed to be doubt and uncertainty waiting behind every corner and, although the commoners could not complain about their plight to the people in power, complain they did! Historians still argue about why the great change in government took place and continued to spread. Some blame Louis' naivety and sheltered life. Maybe he thought they were happy to help their country… Others blame the financial problems. Economic recession in the year before the revolution may have frustrated some nobles and peasants alike in their rise to power and wealth, and rising bread prices the year of the Revolution certainly increased discontent among workers and peasants. Yet it is now commonly believed that the revolutionary process started with a crisis in the Bantorian countryside. This story shows one of the many triggers that caused the revolution to take place: the attack of foreign invaders.

The king is saddened, angered, and confused. Men and women in plain clothes came to him from the farming towns to tell the king that their fields are plentiful but that no produce is coming from them because monsters from an Invading army are coming ever closer and burning the fields and farms as they get to their destination: the heart of Bantor itself. The creatures started by burning neighboring kingdom of Balsee's crops but when farmers of Bantor came to help they too were attacked. Nobel wars are fought between two armies but these Invaders start their tirade by killing peasants who cannot defend themselves. The king knew that he could not allow this to continue. The creatures would destroy Bantor if nothing was done to stop them soon. Who would remain loyal to the king if all the villagers were slaughtered? So, the king decided to do something...

**Chapter One: **

**The Day of the Trial**

Marcus Saphire looked out the window as flashes of yellow and red zoomed by him. Any on-looker would assume that the young boy was simply taking an afternoon carriage ride on a beautiful fall morning but the truth of the matter was much more grave. Marcus was on his way to see his parents at the courthouse.

Marble steps led up to a large mural covered door. The door opened into an almost-too-lovely-to-be-gaudy room. Every corner of the ambitiously beautiful room was covered in crystals. Everything from pillows to chandeliers gave a deceiving sparkle. Yes, the couch was beautiful but who would want to sit on a crystal pillow? Every room in the court house was equally beautiful to this one: The courthouse was the largest and most majestically and famously decorated in town but no one wanted to go there – well, that isn't true. Some lawyers and judges do enjoy going to the courthouse each morning. Still, Marcus was not happy to be going to the dreadful place.

The fact that the building was "a beautiful example of Romanesque architecture," did not make the courthouse any more inviting to Marcus. No matter what his guide said, Marcus could not squelch the feeling that he was meeting his doom. In truth it was his father who was on trial for a kidnapping. Marcus would stick his blond head into the aisle way to sneak a look at his father and the old man would smile at him in triumph as if he thought he had already won. He looked so confidant but Marcus knew that he could never win; still, he tried to look confidant to support his father. Although he looked sure of the prevalence of justice, Marcus was a little less sure of success than he let on but he had reason to be. Just last week a jury had sentenced a man named LaBamlme to a life sentence for the lesser crime of thievery. The golem machinery LaBamlme had stolen was worth a lot of money but not a man's life, Marcus thought sadly when he remembered the article that had been read to him at school so long ago.

The article seemed to mean even greater doom as he looked up at his father, who seemed so confidant. He looked like he was on cloud nine but Marcus was sure that he would soon plummet beck to earth when the verdict was read. Marcus hated to think of his father as naïve but what other option was there when he insisted that he had a chance of winning. This thought escaped his head when he looked at his father's back and saw how stiff, frightened and unsure the towering figure of his father looked. "He's putting a happy face on for me," muttered Marcus sadly… His father saw the impending doom in all this as well. Brian had hoped that his father knew something he did not. He wanted his father to have some secret plan that would insure the success of his win in the trial. No plan or strategy was ever reveled and the longer the case progressed, the more certain the doom became. There would be no secret plan for success and no happy ending for the Saphire family. Marcus looked down sadly, not wanting to see the jury look at his father with contempt-filled eyes. What did these twelve people know that made them so special? Why was it their opinion that would decide the fate of not only his father but also of himself?

Marcus knew nothing of court systems – he never had to know anything about them! Before today they were just something you had to know in school for a week or two and then all the information could be thrown out and forgotten. It was like a jury was a dead thing that became extinct yesterday but it became incredibly real today. The things that were vitally important yesterday were thrown by the wayside today because bigger and more complex things needed to be worried about. Nothing was the same and no one would tell Brian why such a drastic change needed to take place. His life had turned upside down in a moment that seemed to only take a second. The driver, the police and even his own father acted as if none of this concerned him. Didn't they see that this one event had changed his full life!

Chapter Two: A Year Before the Trial

It was the year of the revolution according to the seemingly all-knowing newspapers. The Times and Globe and Gazette all said the same thing: The coming year would be different because the people wanted it to be. They claimed that the people of Bantor had power but the more time passed the more helpless they felt. The world wanted something new and different than it had received a year ago but no one who needed a change seemed to be able to make one. Ten thousand people stood anxiously watching and drinking as the town crier climbed onto the platform and yelling out the few remaining seconds of the same, cyclist time period. "Three! Two! ONE!" Hope ran through people…the possibility of power becoming something they could hold onto was a real one.

Marcus himself had yelled with them for the last number. He felt excited and exhilarated but he had not been one with the route crowd members. He was too young to understand that there was even a need for a better time to come. He just felt the charged air and saw the smiling excitement in everyone's eyes. It made him feel warmth within himself. Marcus let his senses get dragged in the sway of the crowd… He saw what they saw and wanted what they wanted. Everyone was connected and he yearned for that connection. This place was like no other place. The crowds made this place special – even the crowds at stores and rallies, which were much larger, had not been as sincere and sensual as the group gathered before the ball.

With the waving of hands and the vast sways of the throng, a familiar face appeared. "Master Anthony, Sir!" Carlos, Marcus' father, yelled through the roar that was constantly around them. The balding man turned and smiled down at Marcus as he said, "Oh, Carlos. How nice to see you and little Marcus out together." Marcus smiled up at him sensing that it was what his father wanted. If it were up to Marcus, Anthony would not even get a wave of acknowledgment. The balding man scared him because of the falseness in his eyes. The man couldn't even make eye contact with his father when they spoke! The man had to be hiding something and Marcus did not want to find out what it was. He wanted to ignore the bald man and never see him again. Still, his father had different ideas…

**Chapter Three: The Meeting that Would Change Greg's Life**

A dark-eyed, twenty-something year-old man stood in front of the Inn's sign. It was raining that day and the heat radiating from inside the warm kitchens of the establishment were calling to the man. He really did want to go in (as would any sane human being in such weather), but his associate had asked the man to wait for him in front of the sign, not inside of the building. The cloak was growing heavy with water but the man continued to wait in the rain. This meeting may seem ordinary but it was far from it!

People in the street seemed to sense his anxiety and would occasionally slow in their work to take a look at him. He was always told that he looked young for his age. Some people take that as a complement but he did not. He always liked to think that his lean, toned body and thin lips made him look more mature and dignified. His eyes were the only body part that gave away his true age. A worried frown creased his face. He had been watching for the businessman for some hours now and was beginning to think that they had been trying to trick him.

Would any of them take him seriously? "I should have brought the letters he sent with me," he chided himself. It would have been nice to double-check the address without having to walk halfway across town! He needed these people to take him seriously – He knew that the threats the "associates" had given him were dead serious and he had hoped to make the plain a little more even. It sounded so simple: go wait for the associate at an inn and give his message to Louis. He could be a patriot and help the commoners at the same time by serving as a go-between. In truth, the young man didn't really believe that the king truly wanted to help the commoners but this was his chance to give a jester and hopefully stop the impending war.

The king had written proclamations as letters to the people of course but they could not serve in place of real contact. Facial expressions and body language said feelings more than words. Those feelings usually didn't come across in the wordy and formal proclamations. The people didn't really know their king and they were convinced that he did not really know them. The wet man hated to admit it but he feared that the common people were right about their ruler: He couldn't even imagine what it could be like to be them!

Part of the blame had to be placed on the proclamations. No matter how good a person wrote he knew that a real friendship could not be started until the two corresponding parties met face-to-face. Ask anyone who has been separated from a lover. The letters they write bring comfort but it can only go so far! Seeing the lover once again brings happiness so profound that even the best of poets cannot describe it accurately. The only way to show the people of France that their king truly cared about them would be to appear before them.

"I'll arrange that meeting after this one," the man said through chattering teeth. He knew that it was rude to talk to no one but yourself but no one really seemed to be listening. He continued to mutter about cold and rain and paper work when he saw a face that did not seem to fit in with the crowd that normally presided in the street.

It was an old face with a baldhead. He wore rags and his hands were covered in dirt – this was the associate who had come to him last night. Anxiety and gratification washed over Gregory at the site of the bald man. Soon, he would be able to go into the Inn and warm himself by the fire. He relished in the idea that relief from the damp cold were quickly approaching him. Still, the man also knew that the businessman would want more than this… He was anxious to hear his next task. These thoughts mixed with others of the same cloudy nature as the two of them entered the Inn.

They took their seats at a small both in the far corner (as far from the bar as they could get) to ovoid noisy ears listening in on their conversation. The Inn was dimly lit but the table itself held a single candle, which provided a large amount of light. The bald man kept his head down and his companion found it hard to see his face but he did not really care. Greg was just happy to be out of the rain.

The bald man went to get drinks while the wet man removed his cloak. When the man got back to the table his associate had already returned and a frothy mug sat by his seat. "I take it you know why I called you here today?" The bald man spoke the question as if he was simply making a statement. Still, he paused afterwards as if he wanted Greg to answer.

He was hesitant about answering the question. Did he know why he was called? Well, he thought he knew but he prayed that he was wrong! Luckily, the bald man didn't wait for the man to answer. He just kept going through his conversation as statement/quests. Every few sentences or so, he would stop and look left and right just to make sure that no one had noticed anything amiss.

"Our friend would be grateful for any information you can provide."

Finally, Greg knew that the bald man was really waiting for his answer. "The only information I can give is old information. The people are unhappy and are getting impatient with waiting. They hear the promise that help is coming and that others suffer as well but they do not see the evidence… I can only say that it is time to show them the proof that they have been waiting for."

Baldy stood onto his feet quickly. "You are not in a position to suggest anything, you ignorant cow!" His face was red and his eyes looked like they were about to pop but he quickly quieted down and took his seat when he saw that the entire room had turned to them. "So much for keeping a low profile and blending in," murmured Greg as he leaned further into the shadows. The bald man that sat across from him had to be a noble: no one else would have so little self-control. The upper class was used to doing what they wanted when they wanted without having to deal with any repercussions. Even after making this grievous mistake, the bald man still thought he was in charge and acted like it! He jerked his baldhead towards the door. "Let's move."

Greg shrugged his shoulders and went to grab his still-dripping cloak from the entrance. "I wasn't trying to say that I knew more than you or your 'friends'. I only meant that ideas were all I had to offer. No real new information."

The bald nobleman breathed out slowly as if to steady the pounding within him. "I am paying you to get information. Get that information or find a new job." The man stared at baldy as he turned to leave. Greg was beginning to loose his patients as well…

"If you could find someone to do this job as well as me, you would have already hired him. You need my services more than I need your money." The nobleman dressed as a beggar paused in his departure for a time but he never turned around. The five-second pause was the full extent of the acknowledgement the still-wet Gregory received. The nobleman continued walking and called to his carriage.

_Great, _thought Greg as he drew the hood of his cloak up, _I'm leaving this meeting more confused than I was when I came._

The man turned to walk away himself when the noble called back to him, "I expect a better report next week, Gregory. Meet me here next week. There will be more information for you in the box."

Gregory just smiled and walked on through the rain.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Four: The Nobleman's Side

The old nobleman watched from the shadows as Gregory ran in the rain. He smiled to himself. The bald man was right, the boy would work perfectly – the way he walked and talked didn't give him away! This boy could blend into the court quickly (quicker than the other "potentials" anyway). He would fit the job nicely…

Gregory could not shake the feeling… that feeling he always got when someone was staring at him. A spot burned as hot as flame on the back of his head. He turned slowly, hoping he would find no one but knowing that they would be there even if the light did not reveal it.

He was surprised to see that a man in a black over-coat standing behind him. "Don't be alarmed good sir, but you are heading towards a bad part of town – I can see that you are new to the town and I would like to help you by offering my services as a guide. The fee I charge is only a small one for time. You will not find a better deal in all of Paris," the man tried to continue, hoping that he would make a sale but Gregory had heard all of this before.

Gregory continued on his way until he came to a café. A group of about ten men crowded around a table that was designed for no more than five people. They all spoke in low, husky voices and looked wildly about the room as their lips moved in synchronization with their drumming fingers – all of them were speaking as if they thought the world would end at any moment. Each men spoke at the same time and at a speed, which would make the waiter think that they had each had one too many cappuccinos. Gregory smiled at the frowning waiter who was writing down his order for three more creamed coffees.

"Greggy Boy! How good of you to finally join us," joked Jonathan, a friend of Gregory's from college, "How do you find the time to do all this?" His friend joked looking at his bloodshot, sleepless eyes. Both of their parents had insisted that they get a good education even though neither of their parents had been given that opportunity. Both young men tried to make a place for themselves at the school but when they saw that most students bribed the teachers, they knew it was not the place for them.

The young men were still in their teens and the streets of Paris were not a safe place. Their parents believed that school was the only safe place for them – even the other farms on the outskirts of the city were full of ruffians. Gregory's mother wrote to him constantly, begging him to come "home". He always explained that his work in the city was important: He told her that he was helping people – still, in his mother's eyes, it was he who needed help. There was no way to show his family that the city was a good place. So, eventually Gregory stopped writing letters and simply focused on the work at hand – equal rights for all and a tax deduction for the peasants.

"A letter came for you this morning. It was from that creepy man again. I thought you said that you were meeting him this morning?" Jonathan told Greg as he handed him an envelope with his name sprawled on it in a spidery hand.

"I saw him last night…He didn't really tell me anything though." Gregory breathed a sigh and shook his head. "I guess the Big Guys still don't trust us."

Jonathan motioned to the letter and gave him the "do you really think so" look. He opened the letter and tried to read it, groaning inside. The spidery writing was nearly illegible. Why had the man not just said anything at their meeting? Didn't he know that letters could be traced – if they could even be read that is! He thought about just burning the letter and ignoring the ignorant man. He was obviously an amateur to espionage and knew nothing about the revolution. It was all some crazy goose chase! Could this man really care about the peasants? There was only one way to find out – he could always burn it after reading.

He liked to think that both he and the old man shared the same goals. Still, each day seemed to show a new side to his new "friend". Were they even on the same side anymore? This man seemed to be a man who needed to keep mystery in his life… But the resistance didn't need mystery. They needed someone who could keep a secret. Mystery was not the same as a secret and Gregory knew it. He was about to dumb the letter when he saw the seal. His hands held the envelope and hovered over the insignia without moving a muscle for several seconds until he knew: _It's worth the headache_. And tour the letter open. Chapter Five: Margaret's Suitors

Two dark-haired women sat in a dark lounge laughing with content. The woman on the left was tall and lean with a purposeful expression on her face and dignified eyes. The woman on the right was little more than a girl. No on-looker would imagine that she was old enough to be a mother twice over. Her face had rosy cheeks and her eyes were alight even when the woman cried with delight. The two of them looked nothing alike but it was easy to see that they were close. They leaned in to each other so that their heads touch and stare into a keyhole to get a glimpse of the gentlemen sitting in the room inside.

"What about that one, Iris?" The girl on the right whispered as she gestured to the left corner of the room. The man she pointed to looked dignified with dark hair and eyes in a dark suit.

"No," answered the woman on the left seeing from the man's baring that he was not the type of person her father would be interested in. "She's going to hate us when she finds out that we are nocuous with the Baron." The tall woman frowned at the thought but continued to look out the small opening.

They took turns pointing out suitable men but the search quickly turned into a joke. The two girls had to fight and pinch each other to keep themselves from laughing out loud as they pointed to the most auspicious men in the small room. It seemed like hours of fighting to the two ladies and soon the laughter could no longer be fought. After only a few minutes at the keyhole, they burst into mirth. "Ah-hem!" said the owner of a loudly cleared throat behind them. The two women turned and saw a stout man with no hair. "Sorry," they whispered as they taunted up the stairs to their chambers.

They entered the first door on the left with the bright-blue handle that told occupants that the room was sanctioned for ladies of status only. The two ladies started laughing before the door was even closed. They were rolling on the floor when they noticed the room's other occupant: a short woman with dark blond hair. It was Margaret Michelle Ramante, the Duke of Domaneti's only daughter. Her blue eyes glinted like ice as she saw the co-conspirators smile up at her.

"Margaret!" Shouted Jasmine whose young eyes showed both surprise and mirth. "What a surprise to see you here." The two dark haired attendants smiled stupidly while their mistress raised her eyebrow in suspicion. The girls were terrible at hiding secrets…

"I live here," Margaret reminded them with a flick of her hand. She saw their smiles broaden and knew that they were up to some strange scheme. She took a step closer to them when they burst out laughing yet again with double the amount of merriment as the first. "You both seem quite happy today. What are you two laughing at?"

"We were minding our own business when the butler came up from behind us." Iris lied easily – after all, it was only half a lie! Margaret had known Iris a long time but everyone with half a brain would know that she was lying now. The light that normally showed brightly in Iris' eyes suddenly left. Both she and Jasmine smiled as she continued her tale and although both Jasmine and Iris enjoyed tormenting the servants, neither one enjoyed it quite this much.

"What were you two doing?" asked Margaret with a visible frown to show the two that their games would not work today. She stood with her arms crossed and Iris knew that she would have to do better than that to trick her old friend. Iris and Margaret had grown up together and they had gotten to be able to read each other's body language very well.

"We were just looking at the gentlemen joining the court before the procession began…I mean…"

Jasmine cut in before Iris could start to babble incoherently. "I know that you really hate the idea of a forced marriage but if you don't choose someone your father will pick for you!" Jasmine's face was flushed as if the very idea of the Duke's choice sickened her. "No one knows you better than us. We can point you in the right direction and then you can convince your father."

Margaret almost smiled. It was obvious her two friends were trying to help and she was touched that they cared so much – but she knew that her father would never approve of any choice she made: The Duke would say that his daughter should not even look at the young men. They might think she was too forward and then she would never marry into a proper family. Propriety was her father's first rule to love – especially for the young.

"Thank you for trying…but my father would never allow such a thing," Margaret reminded them with a firm voice.

"Your uncle asked us to do it," Margaret gasped at Jasmine's statement. Her uncle was not known to be a cruel man but he was also entering Louis' Assembly. The court often changed people quickly! He was an ambitious man who needed an opportunity to show his power. What did he have to gain from her marriage? Jasmine began before Iris could stop her from explaining all the weeks of work they had done.

"You two have been trying to find a suitable suitor for me all this time! You have never left the palace grounds. How can you find someone that is of the proper age and rank?"

Iris looked Margaret in the eye and said with all seriousness, "All relationships take a bit of trust to start. You'd be surprised how many people have been coming and going about the palace."

Margaret sighed knowing that arguing was futile. She crept down the stairs with the other two girls to glance at the young men once again.

Chapter Six: Marcus Watches Carlos and Anthony

Marcus watched as Anthony and Carlos whispered to each other. The two heads touched forehead to forehead and both men had their eyes closed. Neither one of them seemed to remember that Marcus was even in the room. They ignored him entirely as they spoke in hushed voices, so that they could barely hear the other speak. Marcus moved closer to the adults and hoped that he could hear. He was so close that he could touch the hem of his father's trousers but still, he could not hear what the older men were saying. After a moment the two men pulled apart. Anthony's eyes looked into Carlos's with an intensity that made Marcus stay where he was. He sensed that the conversation was not over and didn't want to miss any details of their plans. His father's eyes swiftly moved down to where his son still gripped the place where his pants met his hose.

"We're done," he said to his son. The boy smiled and was glad that his father was his again. Marcus had officially decided that he did not enjoy sharing his father. His father was his and his alone! Other men had worked with his father but Marcus had never felt any animosity towards them. Those men had seemed like they just wanted to help his father if it himself as well. Anthony only seemed to care about these secret plans.

The two men seemed to enjoy keeping secrets. _Everyone likes to tell a good secret,_ Marcus chided himself but then Marcus remembered why he so disliked Anthony: these were not those types of secrets! Fun secrets are the kind that you tell a friend so that the two of you can be closer. Carlos and Anthony were telling secrets to keep some one out.

Marcus may be a child but he has long over-grown the stage where the mind truly believes that the world revolves around you. Marcus knew that it was not he they were trying to keep out but he also saw that they were not trying to let him in… That meant that Anthony would always be his enemy!

Carlos and Marcus walked hand in hand back to the small flat that they rented. They walked past several bakery dens and a sweets store. Marcus stopped at every one and asked questions with excitement that made his voice rise in pitch and noise level. "Are we going to eat here?" Marcus did this at every afternoon when they walked down this street. Once, before Markus's mother passed away, Carlos could have said yes. Now money was tight. Nora was no longer there and neither was her amazing ability with the needle and thread. Carlos's heart felt heavy and he constantly felt the pang of sadness but Marcus had his mind on other things.

Markus's stomach began to rumble and protest the lack of attention it was receiving. There were still a few shops left before he and his father made it up to their empty loft. The cupboards there had been bare for a long time. He hoped that his father would buy something for him from the store. "Can I get a candy?" Of course, Carlos told his son no after every one of these episodes. Finally at the last store before the residential street, Carlos told his son that he could buy a small crème. He knew that the boy needed more than that but it was all he could afford for now. Carlos could not help but feel guilty: he should be able to buy his son the food and sweets that he wanted like the snobs on Swentzer Street did. He pushed the feeling away with the promise that he would use his next paycheck to buy as much food as he could. Still, Marcus smiled from ear to ear as he ate his crème. He did not let his stomach's continuous growling bother him for the rest of the day.

The boy continued to smile as they walked into the unheated living quarters they shared – he was so happy that he had continued to smile from the store all the way home. Nothing – especially not a little chill could dampen his spirits. _I should have saved the money and bought him something more…_thought Carlos. _After all, Don Anthony is giving me some more money for that secretive labor job._

Anthony had hired Carlos for one reason: Carlos didn't think about anything as long as he was benefited! The man was so desperate for money that he would do anything as long as he got what he wanted in the end. He did not look to see who else was hurt as long as he got the money that he so desperately needed. Human have always done their best to rationalize each action to make it right. Most people want their actions to be unselfish but still get them the thing that they desire in the end. Carlos wanted the money to be coming from a safe place. Don Anthony's actions were fare from safe but Carlos's mind let him think what he wanted.

**Chapter Seven:**

**Gregory's Second Message**

Gregory repeated the letter's message over and over again in his head, just to make sure he was not forgetting a single fact – even little things could end up being important when life was lived by the throat day to day. The mysterious "friend" who kept promising to help was only making things more frustrating. If the answer was so close why couldn't the man just say it! Gregory decided then and there that he would tell the man to explain himself or he would have to find a new partner. He ended up not having to tell the man anything…

The streets were getting more and more empty. A few peasants walked here and there but the majority of the ramble was either in a saloon, indoors basement or in jail. Gregory saw the occasional smiling face or two but most people in this part of town were foreign to him. A cloaked man stood in plain sight and Gregory knew that this was the man he had been looking for. He was out in the open, no longer bothering to cower behind a shadow or two but still too cautious to show his face. "Follow me," the man said as he stepped into a nearby coach.

The coach was made of rich mahogany wood with intricate carvings going down the side. It looked like something only the richest men in France could afford. Gregory only got a short glimpse of the interior of the coach but he saw enough to know that the seats were made out of real silk. Greg felt a dread in his gut. This man could not have owned such nice things. He must have stolen it. Gregory backed away from the coach believing it to be a trap to frame him. He stopped instantly when the cloaked man suddenly pulled out a gun. "I am not asking," he ordered Greg.

Having no other option, Gregory headed for the carriage. His foot was about to touch the step to the seat but at the last second, he bolted down the street. The cloaked man made a quick motion with his gloved hand to alert five or so men down the corner. They stepped out of the ally and closed in on Greg. Each man was covered in muscles and tattoos. Gregory stepped back and braced himself. His eyes flew from left to right, praying for a way out. Suddenly, his world went black…

Greg woke to the movement of a carriage and the scrape of hoof against earth. Although Greg had only just awakened, his eyes hurt from exhaustion. The down feathers that were stuffed into the seats would have lulled him to sleep if he were not so aware of the gun pointed at him. He tried looking out the window, hoping that he could recognize where he was or where the carriage was headed.

The hillside was covered in lush bushes and trees – this could not be in Paris! Paris was a bustling city full of buildings. Gregory could not distinguish any real sign of France's country life out of the trees either. Farmland was flat and clear – ready for crops. The hillside was much too rugged and overgrown. These woods seemed to be as far away from civilization as the cloaked man could get. He must need to do what had to be done away from prying eyes!

After what felt like an eternity of silent riding, Gregory finally poked his head out of the window and looked for the cloaked man. Just as Greg thought, he was driving the carriage. The man saw that Greg was up and motioned for the young man to join him in the front. Greg did and asked quietly, "Are you going to kill me?" The man laughed a hearty laugh from deep within his throat.

"If I wanted to kill you I would not have dragged you into the coach. It would be easier just to kill you in the street."

"What do you want with me then?" The cloaked man opened his mouth just quickly shut it again and was lapsed into silence. Gregory felt a rising lump in his stomach. He knew that he should be relieved that his life was not in danger but he could not help but feel anxiety – everything was so uncertain!

A speck appeared on the horizon of the road ahead: Two pillars of gate with guards beside them. "Get into the back," ordered the cloaked man. Greg obeyed and climbed back down to his seat through the top. Greg felt more than saw the guard's eyes on him even though he had disappeared into the coach. _What could they be suspicious of? _Thought Gregory as he sunk deeper into the seat. There were so many questions running through his head and so few had answers. Gregory remembered the uncertainty of his destination – would it be better to run?

This could be the cloaked man that had promised the poor so much hope. This could be the plan he kept talking about… Still, Gregory knew that whoever was in charge did not trust him. If they did, he would not be riding in a carriage with a lump on his head. He would have been formally and politely invited to come. This was all going wrong. Running might be the best answer.

Once the guards were out of sight, Gregory opened up the door. He started to climb out when he saw it – the destination! It was a large mansion, not quite big enough to be a castle but very close to one in size and grander. The home had three or four stories that were surrounded by marble walls. Gregory was in awe – he just stood there with half of him out of the open door and half of him still within the coach. He didn't notice that the coach had stopped until he heard the cloaked man turn the key in the door. "Glad to see you are ready," the cloaked man said this with a smile in his voice even though there was none on his face. "Follow me… they are waiting for you."

"Who?" Gregory had so many questions that needed answers. He had tried to be patient and thoughtful while he was awake on the carriage ride but the anxiety of the moment made the need for answers a demanding presence. Greg could not wait by patiently any longer. "What is all this about? An army of men came into the middle of Bantor to bring me to a mansion in the middle of no-where… Action like that demands some kind of explanation!"

Gregory was about to continue on his rave but the cloaked man grappled him by the shirt and made him stop short.

"You seem to think that the people here owe you something. They don't owe you squat. If anything, you owe them!" The man took a steadying breath. "Now, if he wants to play at being mysterious, let him. He is just up those steps and he will answer all of your numerous questions in time."

Greg hated having to wait but he had little choice. He took a deep, claming breath and nodded his head as he followed the cloaked man. The man stopped after they had traveled through a large entryway. The floors were made of pink marble tiles and covered in thick Persian rugs. The walls were painted with bold colors (each wall was a different color) and large murals and paintings. Greg was surprised that none of the paintings had a scenery in them – they were all portraits of unhappy people with a dark background.

"Walk up those stairs to the second floor. Turn left and walk through the third door on your right. The master is expecting you," the man explained to Greg in a slow, steady voice.

Greg simply nodded and started to make his way up the steep steps. Hope surged through him. Could this be the mysterious man who swore that he could help their cause? With all this luxury just lying around the man could certainly afford to help people. Greg turned left at the top of the stairs and immediately noticed the difference in decorations between the two floors. The bottom floor was covered in the most expensive things and the newest trends. This second floor looked more like a lodge: the floors were made of wood and the walls were covered with displays cases showing everything from rare books to dime store nick knacks. This man looked rich but he may be eccentric enough to be on their side any way!

He opened the door and was surprised to see five faces starring back at him. "Oh, wonderful!" said a cracking voice from the back of the room. "Everyone this is the boy I was telling you about. Meet Gregory Luce!"

"Oh yes! He will do quite nicely!" Agreed one man.

"He looks young… Just the type of person who will catch attention."

The men in the room went on like this for some time before they noticed Gregory's confused look. "Have you not told him?" the tallest man asked the man in the back.

"It has not been safe to… I suppose that now is the time. You'll excuse us of course." The other four men stood up and left the room, each congratulating Greg on his way out of the room. Now it was just Greg and the old man with no hair who stood in back.

"I am sure you have many questions." Greg nodded to say that he did and was about to open his mouth and ask the multitudes of questions that had been spinning around in his head for hours when the bald man held up his hand and continued in his speech. "Instead of asking everything at once let me try to answer several… Let me begin by telling you a story.

"You know about Louis and about the peasants – Oh yes, I have been reading your pamphlets! You have some interesting ideas and a good voice; especially for an uneducated man." Gregory was about to correct the man but he closed his mouth, thinking that it may be best to let the old man finish.

"Still, even with all of these things your ideas and your dreams have not become realities. You are going to need more than pamphlets and hope to begin this radical social change and even more than that to keep it going. You need money – you need to get those with money to hear what you say – how can they agree with you if they do not hear?"

"I doubt nobles will want to help the poor even if they heard," Greg had thought about that too: If he had money, people would listen but not the right people. Mobs of peasants heard him lecture but still, nothing had changed. They needed an influential person to take requests to the king and the court.

"The nobles would help if the king told them to help." The bald man winked at him before continuing. "Louis can make them do anything – all you have to do is convince the king that your cause is right. You've already convinced mobs of people. How hard can it be to convince one more person?"

"Why can't you talk to the king? You are already a member of the court and in high standing."

"I am afraid that I have gained many enemies in court… They have spread rumors about me. Luckily, the king trusts me enough not to have me arrested or charged. Still, he does not trust me. Having me show him your pamphlet will only delay things further."

"How do we do this then?"

"I will tell the court that you are my nephew from Italy – my three sisters married Italians. The court will believe me."

"You just announce that I am your nephew and they will let me in, just like that?" Gregory knew that it couldn't be that easy. There was something that the man was not telling him – there was always something important missing when members of court were telling a story. Greg had been getting letters from "the master" long enough to know that this man was worse than even the others at Versailles when it came to lying.

"Well, getting in will be easy but staying in will be the hard part. They will expect you to prove that you are a gentleman of high standing. Luckily, none of them has been to Italy in years. If you mess up we can explain that it is an Italian custom…" The man's voice faded away lamely. "We will teach you what we can of course!"

Gregory stood still for several minutes, taking all of this in. "How long do I have?"

"Two weeks should be enough to teach you the basics. Like I said, we can hide behind Italian customs."

Gregory breathed a sigh of frustration – this was not going to be easy!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Eight:**

A Week After the Ball

Weeks come and go and time seemed to pass without anything significant in Margaret's life to mark its' existence as memorable. She went to court and to balls as she always did. Nothing seemed new or special. Her father had introduced her to a man here and a man there. None of them really interested her but Margaret was not a shallow person. The fact that every man the Duke brought was old and ugly did not matter as much as the fact that none of them looked at her eyes when she spoke. She tried to let these suitors know that she was far from interested in them. Still, there would be an occasional perfumed letter in her father's box but Margaret never finished reading any of them through before she rejected them in despair. They always seemed to start with complements about her "petite face" or "heavenly eyes" and then the suitor would move on to why he was so great… That was usually when they revealed why they were still single and rich bachelors in a world where every woman needed a husband. It seemed like these men did not live in the same world she did. She expected them to be politicians and generals (two things she knew little about) but she still thought they would live in the same type of existence.

Margaret was dragged from ball to ball and dance-to-dance by her father and attendants. Three balls in less than three weeks seemed like a little too much. Each ball involved having a new dress sewn and standing still for hours as the seamstress fitted it. Worse still was standing at the ball and being told whom she could speak to and when. If any suitable young men were to be met, how could she say a word to any of them without a proper introduction? She knew that married life offered few new distractions but enough was enough. She was about to loose hope and just go through the motions when Iris grabbed at her arm and gestured to the far corner where a group of men stood.

She glanced in their direction but tried not to stare. Her father was not standing far from her and she knew that he would not approve of her wondering eyes. Still, the group had six or seven men in it and they all clustered around each other talking in joyful voices and laughing. At first, all she could see was the back of their heads. The three men in the front suddenly moved to the side and she saw something she had not been prepared to see: a new face in the court catching the attention of all around him. The man who had been speaking had dark hair and deep eyes. His voice was deep and he spoke with insight and passion.

She thought of going over to him but the words of her father and all the mistresses and tutors who had taught her for hours when she was young went through her head. _Don't seem too forward, _she reminded herself, quoting her father and many teachers. _Young men are looking for an obedient wife, not one with interesting conversation. _She reached for Iris' hand and held onto it for courage and perseverance. She wanted nothing more than to walk over to them and hear exactly what he was saying. She could only catch every other word while she stood by the banister.

"We'll have to wait for them to come to us," Iris whispered to Margaret, knowing that her friend was not patient. She listened to the men's conversation as she waited for them to notice her. Most men spoke of tennis and cricket but the man who had interested Margaret so much spoke of philosophers like Hobbs and Lock, great thinkers and politicians of the past. Margaret smiled remembering how much her father had complained about paying for tennis and horse riding lessons when all she did when she came home was run up to her room to write or read. The Duke seemed sure that every young lady needed an active hobby to attract young men… Margaret was never very found of the idea of hitting a ball back and forth. She hoped that the man who stood across the room felt the same way. He did not seem interested in sports or other things as the other men did.

She smiled as she studied him; mystified because he was so different: He had dark hair that was cut high but still managed to go over his forehead in the front. He had fire and passion in his eyes but he also knew how to choose his words and took care in doing so. Margaret could not deny that he impressed her; she could only hope that she could do the same. After all the balls, dances and dress fittings Margaret had been forced to attend, this was the first time she was glad of it. She knew that the gown she wore was made of fine silk and covered with lace and wrapped flowers. She had no doubt that the gown was beautiful but she hoped that it was beautiful enough to make the man want to allow her to talk with him. This man was dark and handsome but he also seemed to have warmth in his eyes that lit his face and Margaret wanted to show him that she had the same qualities. The group that crowded around him laughed and smiled at everything he said.

Margaret focused all her thoughts on doing what her father and his tutors had instructed her. She put forth all her effort into being discreet and not stair at the man. She tried to make small talk with her ladies maids and the other ladies to distract herself. She could not help but hope to gain the new noble's attention. She thought that she had stopped staring and that her intentions had gone unidentified but apparently people noticed. Her father walked over to her and whispered, "Let me introduce the two of you."

The girl and her father walked across the room until they stood before the group of gentlemen. The six friends that stood beside the handsome man moved away at a glance from the man but Margaret's father pulled her forward and to the left, past the handsome man until they stood before a tall man with graying hair.

With a wave of his hand, the Duke gestured to the man. Before the Duke could say a word the dark man had stepped forward and was taking Margaret's arm. "Don Anthony Menticcili! Your father and I stood unified before the courts years before you were born."

"Yes, my father speaks very highly of you," Margaret said shakily after the man's forced introduction. Why was this man the one her father wanted her to speak with? When she thought that her father was going to introduce her to the new nobleman, she had released the breath she had been holding. Now, the disappointment of the moment was making her breathe heavily. Her father seemed to notice her nervousness and tried once again to introduce her to the Don properly.

"Don, may I present my daughter, Lady Margaret," the old man gestured to his daughter and began to back away, hoping that leaving the young people alone would help spark romance.

"My lady," the Don bowed to her and held out his hand for her to take. Remembering her manners, Margaret took his hand and was led on to the dance floor.

Musicians played a waltz softly on violins as Don Anthony led Lady Margaret around the dance hall. Margaret had danced at balls with strange men before many times but this was the first time she felt like a really uncomfortable. The Don spoke with her about horses and the weather as they danced and Margaret knew that this could not be any more boring. There was something about this man's eyes: they looked at every detail of her body without ever reaching her face. This man did not see Margaret Michelle Ramante for who she was. He just saw another Lady at a ball. He saw a sea of things that Margaret was sure he would forget in the morning. After only a few hours of dancing, Margaret felt like she already knew this man and his type – she could tell that he was a man to fear. He knew too much about the world around him and refused to introduce himself to the rest of society. Margaret was more than ready for the dancing to end but the dance seemed to only be the beginning.

After the dancing and dinners were through, the men went to the den to enjoy their cigars and talk politics while the ladies went into the parlor to relax. Margaret quickly led Jasmine and Iris onto one side of the room where she could tell them about Don Anthony. She began at the very second they were introduced and left out no detail after that. She told them about their dance and how cold he seemed. A servant had come up to him during the dance but the Don kicked the poor man away. Margaret was ashamed to admit it but the dark Don frightened her. She tried with all of her might to forget the strange Don all through the rest of the party.

When the Duke and his daughter returned to their chambers, Margaret still could not shake the image of Don Anthony from her mind. After Margaret got back from "memory lane", she quickly went to her writing desk and began to compose a letter to the Lady Catherine, who was the party's hostess. She hoped that the kind woman would be able to tell her who the man in the corner was. Who would not find it tempting to write when they had just witnessed something so rare as the man in the corner – with the face of the most handsome man a lady could imagine. The man was perfect: He was learned and kind – two things that Margaret insisted upon. He was a noble with a title of great significance to be invited to such a party and never seen at court. Margaret hoped that the title would allow her father to keep his only rule for her marriage. The ease of it all made her freeze. She daydreamed about a perfect meeting in the garden where they would decide to get married that day. All she had to do was ask the Lady who the man was. She suddenly stopped and thought to herself: When does anything turn out this perfect? It was then that she remembered the Don. _Why is this foreign noble even interested in me? Why is he still single? _Surely someone like him could marry any woman he chose. Was this a trick? Margaret stopped writing her letter and swiftly went to bed.

The next morning, Margaret was shocked to find a letter for her in her father's box. She was overwhelmed to find that it was from the Don. Margaret read through the letter quickly. Like normal, he spent the first part complementing her. She was relieved to see that it was not her looks or posture he noticed but her "sweet voice and lovely dancing." She had to get Jasmine and Iris and tell them about her letter. Hopefully they would be able to come up with a way to politely tell the Don that she was not interested. Usually, she would just write what she always did but none of the other men scared her quite like this one.

Margaret quickly told both Iris and Jasmine about the letter that she had received. Her senses cried to her. She wanted nothing more than to go upstairs and rip the letter into shreds as a reply. Iris turned to Margaret and gave a bit of a shy (but wicked) smile. The smile spread over both her and Jasmine's lips. Margaret could tell they were laughing with Margaret as she smiled in embarrassment but she tried to ignore them and finish her story. "I opened his letter – more out of curiosity than anything else and was so annoyed that I nearly cried out loud several times before I had gotten through the first paragraph. Usually the letters make the suitors sound queer and acquired but the Don's letter only sounded cold and strange. It sounds paranoid but I could see the coldness in his eyes as I read! I keep getting worried that he will show up again. I can't believe I was even introduced to him: this has to be the work of my father or uncle. They both want to gain favor at court."

Iris reached over and playfully rubbed the blond girl's arm. "You're forgetting the other gentleman from last night. I saw you looking at him."  
Margaret opened her mouth as if to protest but was interrupted again. "You are too cenacle!" She chided. "Maybe it is fate that let you both saw each other! The court doesn't control everything."

"You and Jasmine have seen how medalling the court can be." Iris's eyes glazed over has she thought about her past "engagements". According to Jasmine's father, her life was to be given for family honor. If the family needed a higher place at court, her life would be used to bargain that honor at court. "I am afraid to get my hopes up," explained Margaret to her saddened friends. "Besides, I don't even know if he saw me." Margaret looked down, feeling ashamed at even thinking the thoughts. She was so deep in her thoughts that she did not even realize the nobleman was standing in her doorway.

**Chapter Nine:**

The Night Carlos Made it Happen

Carlos waited until Marcus was asleep and then walked out, closing the door softly behind him. He shivered in the night air and quickly walked into a back ally where Anthony waited. "Sorry to keep you waiting, Sire" Carlos apologized as he shivered in his light jacket.

"You weren't followed were you?"

Carlos shook his head as Anthony nodded with approval. "You know what has to be done." Anthony motioned to a left where shadows morphed and shifted. Even in the light the object never came into view. "This is really just as a check point more than a briefing or meeting." The shadow continued to move closer in a threatening sway and brush of feet and arms.

Carlos had to resist the urge to run away from the hulking mass that got closer and closer. "Please," Carlos began as his eyes met Anthony's. "Do I really have to do all of this?"

"You knew what the deal was when you signed on. It is too late to go back now."

The giant shadow moved closer and closer. Carlos tried to fight natural instinct but he could not resist when the monster lunged at him. Self-preservation overcame his will power and Carlos could not stop himself as he ran and ran. He had some sense left within him: He ran away from his home. Leading the monster away from his son.

Part of Carlos's mind said, _Now's your chance! Get out of this! _The other part said, _Just stand and let this happen. You agreed to it and whatever happens it is on your head…Do this for Marcus._ Both sides of his mind screamed at him to do one thing: Protect Marcus and keep him out of this mess… He was only a child and he didn't need to deal with strange men who went to the courts! Parental instinct pulsated through him every time he had to meet Anthony when Marcus was present.

He knew that Marcus was afraid of Anthony and he understood why he was swinish. There was something selfish about Anthony. The man had neither family nor neighbors. Carlos had never met any of his business friends – only associates. There is something dangerous about a man who has nothing to loose.

**Chapter Ten:**

Margaret's Letter

The next morning Margaret went to her father's box has quickly as she could. The Barron's nephew had promised he would write her and she couldn't wait to see! She tried to warn herself that the court was still involved in these types of things. She shouldn't get her hopes up because she had little choice in the matter. Her father could be telling Anthony that he could have her hand in marriage at this moment. Her consent was not needed for the two men to sign a contract on her behalf.

Then again, he never did anything like that before – even with those annoying men from the western providences. They may have had power but they had no manners! She was shocked when she found a letter from the rued Frenchmen as she riled through the notes looking for something from the hostess of the party.

"I thought he would have gotten that I'm not falling for his game by now," Margaret mumbled in a frustrated voice. She quickly scratched out a blunt reply, trying to make her handwriting as bad as possible. She never finished reading the message he had written to her but that hardly mattered. She had been optimistic when the suitors first appeared – she read each letter that was sent to her in the beginning but quickly found that all the letters were the same.

She stopped reading them after about a year – why did she suddenly feel guilty about it now? She looked down at the letter in her hand and went over the words she had written in her head. _Am I being too hard on him? _She asked herself… Maybe it was time to be serious again. After all, if she didn't choose someone soon, her father would pick someone. She loved her father but lately it seemed like he knew nothing about her and she nothing about him. She couldn't imagine living with any man he would choose.

She quickly handed the letter to a footman to have it sent and walked into the courtyard before she could change her mind. She walked straight towards the garden – surely that would calm her. Looking at the daisies and the roses did help to brighten her mood but all the calming work they had done did not prepare her for her afternoon visitor: the rude Frenchmen, the author of the letter she had rejected.

He stood before her on the green with a servant at his side. "My Lady Margaret," began the servant cordially, "the Barron of LeMion is here to have tea with you." The servant escorted them to a room covered in rich fabrics and patters and quickly left to fetch the cart and biscuits, leaving the Barron and Margaret alone.

"I ahh… hope the weather finds you well," the Barron said lamely as he smiled at Margaret. Margaret smiled back and politely said, "And you also…" An awkward pause passed between them before Margaret continued, "Everyone in the house is doing quite well. The servants are all busy of course: preparing for the ball and all. I hope that everything is going as well in your own home?"

"Yes! Yes. Everyone is doing quite well." Again he paused with his mouth half open as if searching for words. She offered him a cup of tea when the cart came. He took a sip of the tea and thanked her before he continued: "I was hoping that you would honor me at the ball tonight and allow me to have the first dance." He stopped as if he were out of breath and looked up at her with strangely confidant eyes. She wanted to slap the look off his face. He was much too cocky – he had lost his breath so quickly but he made it sound like he had offered her the world.

"I apologize but I cannot. I have already promised my father the first dance."

"Than perhaps you would allow me the last?" He looked so saddened that Margaret had to give in. Her feelings went back and forth. One minute she hated him and the next second she felt sorry for the man with squinty puppy eyes. Still, she nodded a yes to his question and smiled, silently yelling at herself for agreeing at all. She walked with the Barron to the door and watched him go.

"Did that gentleman invite himself to tea?" Asked the butler… Margaret silently nodded in answer. That annoying man could be so rude! Why did she agree to dance with him? She silently kicked herself all the way through the preparations for the dance. She scowled even as her lady's maids placed jewels on her head.

At the ball that night, Margaret tried to stay close to Jasmine and Iris. She wanted the Barron to simply forget that she had given him a dance. Still, when he came in, the fist thing he did was walk up to her.

"Good evening, Lady Margaret."

Margaret smiled and returned his greeting. Iris and Jasmine stayed beside Margaret until the music began to play. Margaret danced with her father as she said she would. She was afraid that no other suitors would come and that she would be forced to dance with the Barron for the rest of the night. Unfortunately, the Don showed up and held her closer than was proper as they danced. This man may be even worse than the Barron. She tried to hide her raising dread when the Barron cut in for his one dance.

Chapter Eleven: Louis Waits in the Forest

Everything at the ball seemed to be going normal but things were quite different at the alley where Carlos stood. The shadow was on the ground and Carlos was sprinting in the opposite direction than the king, Louis himself was traveling towards the capital in his grand carriage. In truth, the king rarely left the palace but this was a special occasion. The kingdom was in grave danger from invaders from the outside:

A man stepped from the shadows then and Gregory had to remind himself not to jump in surprise. It was the king… Louis himself.

"I have chosen you for this mission because you are my bravest and most loyal men in the court. The Invaders are destroying my kingdom from within. I have been playing the fool for far too long. I need you and a foreign spy to find every city that is harboring Invaders and destroy it. If you fail the kingdom will fall. These traitors want war with us and they have convinced poor peasants that Bantor is at fault for all their problems." The king stopped and looked each man in the eye to make sure his message was sinking in.

"As a reminder to these horrible Invading monsters, I am ordering you to bring me their most prized possession. They have the deluded peasants rallying around an idol in hopes of turning them to their cause. If the treasure is taken, the peasants will see that supporting these Invaders was a mistake. A valuable treasure that they stole from all the cities and villages of men was locked away in one of their safe cities. They used all their wealth to buy a stone, blacker than the darkest night that is cut into the shape of a heart." The king gave a humorless laugh and explained. "The black heart is supposed to match that of their merciless leader, Intipo. My original plan was to take that stone so that the Invaders will never forget what happens when they attack Bantor! Unfortunately, spies have told me that the Invaders intend on stealing one of my treasures as well. It is not loot from some city they seek but my most valuable possession.

"I know this mission will be dangerous but in time of need you must take drastic measures. No matter what the end brings you will always be Bantor's heroes. You have risked your lives for her and her people countless times. Are you prepared to do so again?"

The Bantorian men stared at their king in shock. Being the men of the honor and pledging to protect a kingdom was one thing. Anyone could say the words but acting on those words was an entirely different matter. None of the men ever dreamed that he would be asked to attack numerous Invaders that had gained the support of the Bantorians around them with a flick of the hand and a stone. These Invaders had a larger army and more weapons as well as support from the kingdom that the Bantorian army was quickly loosing. Odds were obviously in the Invaders' favor…but who could say no to the king? Refusing the great king would land the offender a beheading for sure but fighting a large army still left a chance at not only survival but glory as well. Each the men knew what the men standing next to him would answer although each man answered for a different reason.

In unison the men answered, "We accept the call". The king gave a pleased smile and began to tell the men of their secret weapon: "The only way to find all of the cities that harbor these Invaders is to ask an Invader. They know where every harboring city and hiding knock is as if by instinct. Of course none of them will just come out and tell any Bantorian the location. We can't capture one and make them tell. The creatures lie even through torture and bribery. Still, we have a secret weapon that the enemy does not know about." The king's smile grew as a young man in pea-green silk suit came into the throne room. The Bantorian men instinctively drew their swords, ready to defend their king. Yet, the king said to them, "Put your swords away. Can you not see that this is the only man who can help us? His name is Don Anthony. He traveled to the castle of his own free will and volunteered to help us. He has told me of the plight that his own people forced on him and he wants nothing more than revenge. He is motivated and loyal to Bantor and has therefore agreed to offer his services to the kingdom. He is now as Bantorian as you or me."

Francis's face was dark red with barely controlled anger when he spoke to the king, his words filled with rage and regret: "Your Majesty, he is one of our kingdom's enemies." At these words, Don Anthony walked slowly out of the room with a small smile on his face. This is exactly what he had expected to happen! He could tell when he was not wanted but he had not expected the courtesans to defy the king so openly. He had the good since to leave if not the courage to defend his position. Although the Don left the room, he could tell that the men below were still talking about him. His small ears burned as he descended each of the many stairs that lead to the ground floor. Francis spoke all the more freely now that the Don has left. "Why would he not lead us into an ambush?"

Samuel jumped in to defend Francis's argument. He wanted to make sure the king knew that he didn't trust these Invaders or Dons and Anthony was no exception. "I see no reason to trust a human being that has turned on his own people." All the Bantorian men began to speak at once and although each used different wording, they were all saying the same thing: no Invader could be trusted.

The king said that he wanted to hear the men's opinions but he was not prepared to be questioned so! He did not approve of his men questioning his orders. He was the king and his word was law! He bellowed: "I chose Don Anthony and I trust him. I am king. My word is final!" My approval should be enough for you, the king thought to himself. Still, he continued speaking to the men in front of him. "He will join the court as an adviser and you will treat him as an equal." All ten of the Bantorian men looked down in shame. They were surprised at the king's words but they also knew that they could not argue.

"I apologize, Sire," said Francis slowly. "I cannot say that I trust the guide but I know I can trust your judgment." Francis paused and looked at the other Bantorian men. "If you trust the guide then I know that I can also trust him."

The king smiled at hearing Francis's response. Loyalty like Francis's was hard to find. It was a rare trait that must be rewarded. "Francis, you have shown the enormous quality of your character. I am glad I can expect such loyalty from a soldier of your merit... You are now captain of the Bantorian men." The king smiled at Francis as all the other Bantorian men frowned. All four of them were thinking the same thing: Don Anthony was coming with them.

The next morning, the men and the Don set out to see who the traitors were while the king addressed the people:

"People of Bantor, our kingdom have been surrounded by violence from attacking Invaders. The foul savages attack our neighbors and friends. Some of you came to defend them only to be attacked yourselves. I have tried to make peace with the Invaders but none of my attempts have worked. I refuse to stand by while the kingdom suffers. The kingdom's best men and I are working together to stop this crisis. I know that these times have been trying for you. So, by royal decree, tomorrow shall be a day of feast and rest." The crowd cheered and waved their hands in the air.

The king met with the noble men after he silently left the feast. "The treasure you are searching for must remain a secret. The creatures will move it and maybe even destroy it if they find out we are trying to steal it." The four men nodded and silently left the room one at a time.

The Don and the men met in the dense forest led them into the forest at the far side of the kingdom. The Bantorians walked behind the Don in silence through the woods. Their eyes scanned each bush and tree, looking for the pair of eyes each man felt was watching him. All though the feeling of unease was strong, no intruder or spy could be found.

At sundown camp was made and the Don began to spred the rumor that Gregory was not of noble blood and that he was the spy the king was looking for. The two nobles in the group automatically distrusted him and their distrust of Gregory grew, as the sky got turned black and darkness set in. "Francis," John whispered. "Should we not post a guard to make sure the spy does not come to us while we sleep? The spy could be among us for all we know."

Samuel nodded and turned to Francis for confirmation but Francis remembered the king's words and said, "We do not need to fear one of our own. If he wanted to harm us he would have done so already..." The other men looked at Francis with shock and something close to betrayal in their eyes. They each looked defeated and saddened. Francis knew that he could not let the conversation end there. "But it would do no harm to have a watch."

"I can take the first watch," said John eagerly. Francis looked at Gregory and then to John. Maybe the others were right after all.

"If anything happens wake us all. We are not sure who the enemy really is." Francis ordered.

With this fearsome thought trapped in their heads everyone but John lay down and slept. After about five hours of watching the empty night John began to nod off. He slept fitfully until something rustled in the bushes and woke him!

John opened his mouth to yell but a large hand covered it before he could make a sound. John panicked and began to struggle but quickly stopped with a surge of relief he realized that the hand had no claws or fur. The hand could not belong to a Monster. Relief washed over him but the relaxing feeling did not last long.

"You're a stranger in this land, are you not?" Asked a deep voice from the tall figure. John nodded his head, trying to be as cooperative as possible. He didn't want to be killed by this towering form of a man. Still, he could not think of anything to do but run. Little did he know that Carlos was in the same predicament.

**BACK TO CARLOS**

"You can't hide," roared a voice that Carlos didn't recognize but knew must belong to the monster. The intensity of the call only made Carlos ran harder. He knew that the thing was right to take him but he also knew that he couldn't give up for his son. Marcus was still too young to be on his own. He was terrified of the dark alleyways (a fear that his father had ensued in him to keep him away from men like Anthony) and he was not strong enough to work in the shops.

Carlos remembered his first job. The foreman told him to lift heavy sacks of sand and carry them to the golems on the second level. The first half of the day was not very hard… Sure, the sacks were heavy but no one really noticed until the second part of the day. Everyone felt the weight of the sacks then. The foremen were reminding everyone that today's quota was not yet matched. If three days passed without a change in production, the salary would have to take the loss in profit. People scrambled here and there to get the last of the work done. Small and hunched over boys – like Carlos were nearly trampled in the mass chaos and confusion. No one seemed to look down! Everyday was terrifying. He got the job when he was only 13 but he was expected to do the work of a full-grown man.

Carlos knew that his son could do the work but he did not want his son to have to do the work. He wanted to give Marcus a childhood. Carlos was proud to say that he had worked so that Marcus would not only be able to go to school and to play but so that he could also get a real job. Carlos thought of his son in a deskman's outfit and with food on his table. This thought brought peace in Carlos's heart and allowed him to stand still while the shadow monster got closer and closer… and eventually took Carlos.

Carlos knew that Anthony would see to it that Marcus got the money that was due to him. After all, the Don was said to be a friend of the people. France needed a friend and Carlos knew that they could not be found in court. The powered wigs in the halls of government wanted nothing but more power for themselves. They were a selfish bunch! No one there cared about the peasants or their troubles! Soon… very soon… the idiots in Louis' court would see that power did not come from money, land, or titles… It came in numbers and the people had numbers on their side. Even as the monster ate him, Carlos was sure of victory and confidant that his son would know a better world.

Don Anthony smiled and knew he had made the right choice in asking Carlos to do this task. The man trusted him with everything. As soon as the Don swore that Carlos's son would be saved from the violence of revolution and the want of poverty, Carlos was willing to do anything. The Don wasn't really sure he liked Carlos but he was a man of his word, so he would keep the boy, Marcus, safe. It seemed like a small sacrifice to make for such triumph!

Anthony saw horror before him but it only made him think of the wonder of the horror that would come to the nobles and the fool king. _Everything is going according to plan. There are only a few steps left before Louis will fall to his knees and the court to chaos._

The moment the monster's jaws closed in around Carlos, Anthony knew that France, and all the fine country had to offer, would soon be his! Anthony looked up at the picture he was order to hang of the king.

_Soon, Louis. Soon…_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Twelve:**

Carlos… but not Carlos

Carlos felt nothing…numbness covered every inch of his body from the center to each end. Time seemed to exist in sprints and not continuous strands. No thoughts had enough real times to form even though the seconds passed slowly. Carlos could not tell a simple passerby who he was or where he lived – he could not say the year!

Nothing seemed to exist except this very second. There is no past and the future will be short. The thing inside of Carlos told him this and he believed it. The thing spoke with such conviction that any hearer would be forced to agree. Carlos fought the thing at first because he thought he had to… then he found that it was futile. Part of his mind told him not to give up and to keep fighting but his heart told him to let go.

Carlos knew that there was a reason that he had allowed the monster to take him but he could not honestly tell a person what that reason was. Things seemed to fall from his mind. _That's because it is so light_, he reminded himself. Everything seemed to make since if he just thought about it long enough – but then the world moved so quickly that nothing seemed to really last.

Carlos's head seemed to spin and it took him a while to figure out that he was actually moving…or the monster was moving! His mind started to panic…

He could not control his own body anymore! Carlos's imagination formed images of his neighbors' destroyed homes. The monster was in control now. Anthony had sworn that he could keep the creature in-check but that was little comfort to Carlos – he didn't trust Anthony as far as he could throw him! The man was ruthless and the blood of innocents would not stop him! Carlos had agreed to take part in this crazy scheme for two reasons:

He never thought their plot would actually work. Carlos figured that after a few months of trying without success would make the Don give up his conspiracy. Carlos would have fled town with his earnings and his son. They would have been able to start a new life as rich men.

Carlos thought that being on the Don's side would allow him to leave the fight uncivil. He knew that the Don was obsessed and that if the plot COULD work, Anthony would make it work. He thought that his friends and family (particularly his son) would remain safe because he was Anthony's weapon. He thought he could just avoid the areas where they worked but it was not the case.

Carlos could not even control his own body!

He tried again to stop the rhythmic movement of his feet but the harder he tried to stop the faster his feet went. Carlos let out an inward shout. His mind streamed to let the sound out but the only answer was a mocking laugh from the monster. _You agreed to this to help people_. The monster could read his mind even though they did not share a mind. _After our goal is met and the arena is filled, your son will die, _the monster promised Carlos with a hussy laugh._ His blood will be the first to hit the sandy floor. _Blackness returned and Carlos welcomed the escape from reality.

**Back to John in the Bushes:**

John had gone to investigate odd sounds in the bushes while he was on night watch. He found that the noise was caused by the movement of humans – Invaders – and unfortunately, they had found and trapped John!

"The Shadows are our rulers and they show mercy to those who deserve it," said a second shorter figure immerging from the bushes.

The tall, cloaked figure removed his hand from John's mouth. "What do you want with me?" John whispered with a trembling in his voice.

Both shadow figures had their eyes fixed on John. They were testing him and measuring him in their minds. They both blinked twice as if they had silently made up their minds. The Decision had been made.

The tall one turned to John and said, "In the nearest city there will be guards waiting for you. Make sure that your friends go to them. For your loyalty we will give you your life. If one man is missing you shall have the same fate as your company." A paragraph of warnings and threats passed between John and the shadow men as they stared at each other. The tall and short figures of darkness disappeared into the night and blended in with its blackness. John would have believed that the men were nothing more than a dream had it not been for the tingling feeling the shadow's hand left on his face and the small bush needles still clinging to his boots.

Samuel and John both woke well before dawn. The three of them sat in a small huddle and whispered to each other like pre-teen girls sharing the secret of their first crush.

"We could simply 'loose contact' with him during the journey and let the enemy deal with tricksters like him," suggested Samuel.

"No, no!" Exclaimed John. "He is too clever for that. After all, he has the king believing that he is a loyal citizen. The Invaders could use anything to signal each other. Besides, he could lead us right to them."

"We cannot take chances," agreed Samuel. "He wouldn't be helping us unless he has something to gain himself. Everyone knows the legions of Invaders and their greed. Our enemies will make sudden moves if they can. We cannot wait for his actions to prove he is guilty. The fact that he is here shows that he is trying to trick us."

A jeweled hand gripped Samuel's shoulder. John nearly screamed until the Don spoke. "We had better get going. It is nearly sun-rise."

The men rolled up their equipment and turned to follow Don Anthony. The Don tripped but Gregory steadied him.

"I would walk carefully. There are many people trying to mislead us," Gregory turned to Samuel and warned, "Not all these spies are Invaders. They could not have left all of these clues," Gregory pointed to the inside of a former shelter that stood a mere mile from their own camp. Samuel blushed but followed Gregory silently.

There was a day's walk before the men, burdened with equipment, and their animals would make it to the first city. During the whole long walk John's thoughts raced from one terrible possibility to the next. Would the Invaders kill John out of spite even if all of the men did go into the city? What if one of the men did somehow escape? Could the shadow men be spies from Bantor to see who was loyal to the king? Thoughts went through John's head like lightning: each quicker and more terribly freighting than the one before. John became so uncertain that he began to hope they would never reach the city just so he wouldn't have to make a decision. John knew his wish could never be granted when the other the men stopped and Gregory pointed to a crude sign. This was it! Pride and excitement shone brightly in his eyes and was magnified by the pink light of sunset. Still, John could only frown.

The city was in sight.

**Escape!**

The group slowly edged towards the first city. John could not quiet his pounding heart. "How can I make sure they all go to the right guard?" He asked himself again and again as the seconds ticked by. "Get down quickly," John blurted.

"What is it? Did you see something in the city?" Asked Francis as he looked at John thoughtfully.

John saw that Francis believed every word that he was saying… This was the opportunity he was looking for. John paused, trying to think fast. "There is an organization in the city that makes its business by finding spies. I have a contact in the city who says that we can be brought to the group."

"Your contact in the city knows that we are coming?"

"They were signaling me just now." John paused to carefully consider this next few words. "They say that there is a guard in the city who will take care of us and make sure that the mission remains a secret."

The four other members of the group exchanged glances. John had not kept the mission a secret as was planned. This could mean that the mission was in jeopardy. Francis remembered the words of his old commander feeling the weight of his new position for the first time. "I will go in first. Samuel, I want you to follow me with your sword drawn. Gregory, use your good hearing. If you hear clashing swords, muffled screams, or anything suspicious signal the others by placing your hand to your ear. You must hide out side of the city and wait for us." Gregory nodded although he did not understand Francis's logic. Gregory knew that fighting would solve nothing now and simply walked into the bushes.

**Chapter Thirteen:**

**Into the Unknown**

Francis descended into the darkness of the city slowly. The half-moon seemed to give off a light brighter than that of the sun as it clung to the top of Francis's hat while he traveled downward into the city. Samuel drew his blade and, despite the pounding of his heart, followed Francis into the city. Gregory never heard the clank of clashing blades or even a muffled scream. The only noise Gregory's practiced ears could detect escaping the city was a steady thump-thump. This noise didn't tell him anything was wrong but it also revealed that something was not normal and in a situation like this the two often intertwined. He quickly moved his hand up to his ear to signal the remaining true men. John saw the signal and began to panic. Gregory couldn't give him away! A smile crept onto John's face. None of the men really trust the new comer to court. This would be easier than he had originally thought.

John turned to another servant and pointed to Gregory. "Look! That's the spy! He is trying to trick us! I haven't heard a sound come from that city. The boy must be after the treasure!" The Don didn't really see the logic in what John was saying but he agreed that Gregory could not be trusted.

"We can just ignore him," Samuel decided after a moment of silence. "I'll go in and look for the guard you spoke of." Gregory held his breath, listening for the slightest sound that could be a clue to the men's whereabouts as they disappeared to the other side of the hedge. Greg tried not to worry about the men. They had all seen battle before and knew what to do. Gregory, on the other hand, was not only new and inexperienced and scared but he was also alone. The tutors and professors had not prepared him for a battle and he knew it.

Gregory knew that Francis was a noble who truly wanted to help the peasants. Francis was a man with a plan and Gregory knew that he had to wait for the man to choose to share the plan with him. For all he knew, this could all be part of the plan.

Gregory wasn't sure what the thump-thump sound meant but he was sure that it wasn't anything good. A bad feeling grew in the pit of his stomached as he thought of the men. So, after the last man went into the city and the thump-thump sounded and was silenced, Gregory took a deep breath.

**Chapter Fourteen:**

Anthony and Carlos

Three Nights Ago:

Anthony smiled to himself thinking about the deal he had made with the captain only a few days ago. The man was not really a captain of course (he was barely a level above a common fisherman). Sure, he owned a boat but the thing was falling apart. The captain and his crew were convinced that "the old girl" had at least six more trips still in her. Traveling in that ship was idiocy… Still, that was not what made them fools. It is the fact that they give him the strongest spiritual power in the world that can buy him a castle for something as small as a little war. One of the biggest empires since Rome in exchange for one little war… He laughed once more. Little did he know that there were a few details that were not going according to plan.

Presently:

Gregory tried to look confident and act like he belonged here in the darkness but unfortunately the confidence was only for show._ There is nothing suspicious about that sound…_Gregory tried to calm himself as he made his way deeper into the city. His eyes struggled to adjust to the darkening alleyways yet he still walked forward. He bumped into a muscular Townsman in gold armor who yelled, "Watch it!" Gregory mumbled his apologies and quickly regretted doing so. For as soon as the words left Gregory's mouth the guard turned around.

"What were you doing outside of the walls, Wretch?" The guard asked as the muscular armored man blocked Gregory's way. Greg knew that he would have to think fast to get out of this.

"I just wanted to show my friends that I was brave," he answered looking down.

"You don't need to leave the city to prove that you are brave. The Mayor told me that there will be a few public executions tomorrow. Spit in one of the condemns' faces to show your friends up." Gregory tried to look calm and fought to keep his eyes down lest he give away his identity. He just wanted to run back to Bantor but he knew that running now would not help his friends… He would need to free them himself.

_Just keep walking, _he reminded himself. Gregory had no idea how complicated freeing the Bantorian men would be.

Rebel Townspeople ambushed all four of the men with leather wrapped around their swords so that the men would not hear a sound. The men were quickly bond and blindfolded as they were forced to enter an underground fort. Thick rags were tied tightly around the men's mouths.

"Put them each into a different cells," ordered a tall guard. "We don't want any of them knowing where the other is." The four of the men were taken away and practically dragged down winding halls. John was alone with the creatures.

Iron hands gripped John's arms tightly and said, "Our leader is ready to see you," in an almost inaudibly deep voice. The meaty hand led a blindfolded John roughly out of the fort and into the streets. He was dragged right past Gregory. Gregory stared at John as he passed by. He looked for the other tall men but none came. Gregory was about to follow behind John when the muscular Townsman turned the corner.

"Done with those uniforms yet?" Gregory cringed and shook his head as he thought about the punishment the man had given him. He turned back to the clothes while the guard sneered. "I'll just stand here and keep you company until you finish." Gregory's hopes sunk. So much for following John – those plans were done with.

The deep-voiced guard who was pushing John stopped suddenly. He took the blindfold off his captive and untied the ropes. The guard left the room and shut the door, leaving John alone with the leader, Carlos. John was paralyzed with fear at the realization of this thought. He was alone with the most powerful and deadly magicians on the planet. Yet, John's fear was quenched out after Carlos uttered one sentence. "You have done well. The Bantorian men have been lead in just as I had planned."

"I believe that I can make even better things come to your guards. The king himself asked me to go on this mission. He may trust me enough to let me lead him straight into this!" Carlos was delighted to hear this news but before he could express his happiness a knock sounded on the door.

"Sire," said the deep voice, "the Bantorian men have escaped."

Yes, Gregory found a way to free the Bantorian men. It was simple really… The guards had already mistaken Gregory for a student at the town, so he continued playing the part. "Sir," he said to a Townsman in bright gold armor, "I was hoping that I could see one of the Bantorian men before they were executed. The biggest snob at the school brags that he was able to because his father is rich. I need to show him that a peasant can do the same thing." The guard remembered being a poor trainee himself and he felt sorry for the boy.

As soon as the guard showed him to the cells, Gregory knocked him out with one of the rocks and stones that were scattered about the city's many rooms. Luckily the majority of the guards were preparing for the water festival and not bothering themselves with the men. No one was really paying attention to the any of them so Gregory opened the cell door slowly and peeked inside. "Sir Bradley!" Exclaimed Gregory excitedly. "Where are the others?"

"I don't know. They separated us to prevent escape."

The two of them looked around the fort's vast hold and found nothing but darkened rooms. The sound of dripping water and distant voices could be heard – and a voice that was not so distant: "Bradley, is that you? Gregory?" The two of them turned to face the voice. "Samuel," said Gregory recognizing the voice. "Where are you?"

"Here!" Bradley and Gregory saw the flash of dim blue light in the growing dark that indicated the movement of two hands waving about six columned cells down.

"This seems too easy," Gregory thought to himself.

**Chapter Fifteen:**

Margaret And The Admirer

"How is the 'secret admirer' today?" Asked Iris with another mischievous smile. Iris and Jasmine had been calling Anthony Margaret's secret admirer for some time. When she and Anthony had first started writing to each other, Margaret had tried not to let her two noisy friends find out. The secret did not last long! Margaret glared and Iris as she rubbed sleep from her eyes. Margaret was normally an early riser. Today was different. Margaret simply mumbled that it was too early for games. "When did he write you back?" Iris asked, coming right to the point. "Is he going to propose?" She smiled in triumph as Margaret nodded without smiling.

"Of course he is going to propose. He will ask my father as soon as he can."

"What's wrong with that? You will marry a handsome, rich foreigner and live in a mansion," Jasmine reminded Margaret.

"He is asking my father but not me! Shouldn't I get a say in how I spend the rest of my life?"

"Stop all those morbid thoughts of yours and look at the fantasy! This could be the best thing that has ever happened to you."

Margaret knew that her friends were right. She had to look at the bright side of things. She would have to remind herself. The palace buzzed to life as the servants of Baltorian's Castle ran to support the life in the vast building that housed the "best and most valiant".

A maid came in carrying several trays. No one could deny that the servants here were obedient but they seemed fake to Margaret: the maids smiled too much and the butlers spoke too little. She wanted nothing more than to return to the house where she grew up. Her mother taught her to be a lady in a small house, miles from the big city. The servants spoke to her there and they only smiled when they were happy. Maybe Margaret's friends were right: Only a madman wouldn't take any chance they had to have a real life again – a life away from here. Margaret remembered Iris' words as she daydreamed while the maid poured her more coffee.

Margaret put all her concentration into not thinking any negative thoughts about the man who would surely ask for her hand. Don Anthony was not a bad man but Margaret could not believe that he truly cared for her – he only wanted her for her father… Still, how bad could it be?

**Chapter Sixteen: **

**Marcus and Carlos**

In the small flat above the street, Marcus opened his eyes and saw the sun shining in the high window. _How late is it_, he wondered? He walked down the thin hall and stepped into the kitchen. He was expecting to see his father there, lost in the morning's reports that Anthony had sent from work. Usually, the men met at night and read their secrets in the daylight. Marcus liked secrets when he was in on them – he was good at keeping secrets but his father insisted, "this was special". The clerk squinted his eyes as if he was straining to see if the boy was telling the truth. The tall man turned his back on Marcus and walked towards the back door.

"Ah… Sir?"

Anthony stepped out of the back door that led to the office and smiled a fake smile as his eyes moved towards Marcus and his father. "It's nice to see you two again but this is no place for children." Anthony waved his hand at Marcus and glanced from Carlos to the security guard.

"My father is sick," Marcus tried to explain quickly before the guard could stop him. He looked back at Carlos with eyes that shouted for an appeal. "See. Tell him."

Anthony laughed when he saw the boy's distress. "Your father is not sick. He is only tired. I am afraid that we all had a late meeting last night." Anthony turned to the guard and continued. "Take him home so that he can get some rest." The guard put his arm around Carlos's shoulders and led him away. Little Marcus quickly followed, not wanting to be separated from his father.

Thoughts raced through the young man's head. Why did he even think that Anthony would help him? Who else could? This whole thing had to be Anthony's doing… Marcus remembered the late nights alone wondering what daring secret the men were sharing only to find his father bleeding on the floor the next morning. Something terrible was happening and Anthony was the cause of it all. Marcus had known that this would happen from the beginning. There was only one important question that Marcus could not answer: Who could stop what Anthony had begun?

Back in the Town's Fort with Gregory:

"One of them took John down this hall," said Gregory, pointing the other way. Samuel shrugged and followed Gregory down the hall. A muffled scream rang on the walls of the fort. It came from the same direction as Greg was pointing. The man ran to follow its' cry. They turned a sharp corner only to find Carlos' possessed body staring right at them.

Horror ran through Gregory as he looked into the man's eyes and did not see a man looking back. Fear mumped his mind as Greg noted that the eyes were now completely black – there was only emptiness in his eyes. There was no color! For a moment, none of the men from Bantor could feel anything but fear. Then, suddenly, a new feeling came – hope.

The men could feel the coolness of the night air and the moist breath the wind gave off after the rain. Freedom was so close. They could literally taste the gloriousness of it. Just round one more corner and up one more hill to Invaders, the men knew that they were close to the opening. They could feel the coolness of the night air and the moist breath after the rain. Freedom was so close they could taste it. All they had to do was round one corner and climb up one tunnel and freedom would be theirs'! The open fields called as the group ran faster and faster.

No one turned around in fear that they would see the black eyes coming for them and so they did not see that there was a mob of angry people behind them. The men were easily pined still and tided to the ground. John had somehow joined the Bantorian men in the rush and now sat on the ground with his comrades. His wrists were tied and he wore a new bruise on his face. All eyes followed the black-eyed Carlos as he paced the floor.

The group had fallen right into his hands. The Monster made Carlos's lips smile… his plan was working perfectly. Well, almost perfectly: Gregory was a problem.. The problem was simply that Gregory was not from nobility and the Law stated that peasants be tried differently than nobles. The Law said that peasants could not be judged by a statesman. They had to be judged by a tested Labyrinth. As much power as this beast had in the spirit world, he knew that the majority had the power here; and the majority stood for the peasants. The scripts were the true judges, not Anthony or the Monster. He cringed in anger just thinking about a pointless formalities stealing his glory.

The Creature's ancient ancestors penned the Law into creation. In the time before time existed, each kingdom was following a law that was their own- each reign having a different version. So, the powerful creatures took it upon themselves to help the weak and they wrote a new Law to unify all of the different areas. Now, all kingdoms followed one Law. It was passed down from generation to generation by word of mouth. If there was ever a dispute, citizens could simply look at the written version. Every citizen, poor and rich alike, respected and abided by the Law because if someone disobeyed they would be sent to the Pit. No one wanted to go there.

Out of fear the entire Batorian community; the world followed the Law. Well, almost the entire Batorian community. The Creature and Anthony, his supposed Master, always hated the Law. They both knew that the Law was there to control people and to turn them into mindless zombies. Anthony hated the Law but he knew that he could not compete with it. Everyone – even people outside of Bator - followed the Law full-heartedly. Both he and the Creature had to submit to the Law.

When the crowd saw Gregory's plain clothes and tanned skin, they screamed that the Law must be fallowed and that he must be tested. The Creature knew that he had to follow what he conceived as the pointless Law once more:

"The Law says that every peasant must be tried by the Heart of the Law. This pretender trying to rise above his station is no exception!" bellowed Carlos to the crowd.

Turning to Gregory he continued: "No one has beaten me in a millennia but I believe this game will entertain all of us." He paused in speech as he forced a smile from Carlos' lips. "Traditionally, Gregory would have to play the game but I am feeling generous: I will allow you to choose which one of you will fight me."

The travelers from Bantor talked in a whisper but everyone in the chamber could hear their conversation. They came to a conclusion rather quickly: The clack eyed creature was right. None of them had any experience playing the game. That is; none of them except Gregory. His father was forced to play it several times. The groups' best chance was to let Gregory play. He may have picked something up as he watched his father win. The memory may be a small one but this tool has worked in the past. Memories were the only tool the men of Bantor had but they were willing to play it to its full advantage.

"Gregory it is!" yelled the militia men in the town. "Let the pretender play." Carlos frowned as his eyes widened but he recovered quickly.

"You should already know the rules but judging by the blank looks on each of your faces…" He let the end of his statement hang. "I will make it simple for your small mortal minds! All you have to do is draw a Beast Script that is stronger than the one I do twice. You can combine one Beast with as many Will Scripts as you can to make your point value go up. Whoever has the most points at the end of each section wins. All you have to do is beat me twice but be careful: I've arranged for traps and spells to be randomly hidden in the Labyrinth Board to make it more challenging. There is nothing I detest more than a boring game."

Carlos' lips were forced to smile a smile that seemed overflowing with joy but the smirk never reached his eyes. Only hatred and malice lingered in the depths of his soul so deep that it can be seen through his eyes. Black eyes looked in Gregory's direction but never at him. "This game will decide the fate of all of you," Carlos mumbled in the ironic twist over the roar of the crowd and clapped his hands for trays to be brought. So, the game began:


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Seventeen: The Game

A tray with three different decks of the scripts was placed before Carlos. "Oh, no. Let the young pretender choose his scripts first," The Creature decided quickly with an exaggerated motion of his host's hand. Gregory racked his brain as he tried to remember what had happened all those years ago as the servant man moved towards him. Carlos saw the young man's apprehension and took it upon himself to explain.

"There are different kinds of decks. There are Sword Decks, Lance Decks, and…" Carlos' speech paused with a look of disgust on his face: "Seeing Decks. Some are stronger than others. Choose."

Gregory looked to his comrades for help. They seemed to be talking though their eyes without words. Finally, Francis turned to Gregory and whispered, "The one to the right". Gregory frowned but he fallowed Francis's instructions. Carlos picked up the deck in the middle and the game started.

Both Gregory and Carlos stood on small mounds that were just tall enough to see into a maze. The narrow walls of the labyrinth maze were wide enough for nothing but one of the scripts to fit between them. Both Gregory and Carlos were supposed to move their pieces to the center of the board where a spiraled "x" marked the end of the game. The packs of scripts Gregory and Carlos had chosen sat in front of them on the hills. Carlos grinned slightly as he put his scripts into play. He laid three scripts on the Labyrinth Board face down. It was Gregory's turn now. He couldn't think of anything to do. He barely understood the game! He just drew five scripts, as Carlos had done, and looked at them.

These scripts were unlike anything Gregory had seen. They had ornate pictures on every script and each one was different than the other. One of the scripts Gregory drew had a dragon with twelve heads. The next script had a fountain with gold water falling onto grapes. The third had a bright sun standing over a large castle. He knew that the three of these were Beast Scripts because a small wolf silhouette sat in the corner. The next two scripts were Will Scripts. They both had a tendril of smoke in the corner. The first Will Script had a long twisting road. The second had a blue snake on the edge of a cliff. The pictures were so realistic. They each seemed to jump out of every script. The things that really confused and frightened Gregory were the words at the bottom of the scripts. They seemed to be written in a different language. He was sure that these traders were laying a trap of some kind. Should he even try to win?

Gregory stood before one of the most hated men in all of Bantor and he knew that his only option was to wing the game and make it up as he went. He looked down at all of his scripts and tried to choose the best one to play even though he could not understand one thing on them. Luckily, Francis gave the creature a better idea:

"There is a ball at the King's Court tomorrow and a certain young lady will be attending," the noble began. "This peasant will be posing as my nephew. If he can get the lady to dance with him three times, you let all of us go. If he cannot get the lady to dance with him three times, you get all of our souls."

All three of Francis's associates looked at him in shock. Was he really betting their souls? Did he know what he was doing? Gregory knew that the answers to these questions did not matter when the monster looked at all four of them greedily and said, "You're on!"

**Chapter Eighteen:**

Margaret and the Gainsman

" I usually don't have the courage that most men deem attractive in a lady," Margaret told her father in a quiet voice.

"Why do you let these young men bother you so? Let me worry about the courting. I will have enough courage for both of us."

Margaret walked into the party and approached a group of nobles who were around her own age. She still can't really say why she went up to them. It was more out of curiosity than anything else – it certainly was not courage or any false thing like that. Four men and several women stood around a tall man with dark hair and intelligent eyes. He was speaking to everyone and no one. He could be speaking to one person or to a group of hundreds and everyone would be transfixed on him either way!

His good English and his soft accent made his voice irresistible. Margaret found herself laughing out loud several times before she had gotten through even one hour with him. Margaret is not normally given to girlish urges but this young man was different. She could see myself happy with him – she wanted him to go to her father and ask for her hand this minute even though she had not spoken a word to him. He seemed to be everything she wanted and everything her family needed. He was perfect! He was kind and funny but he also had a serious side. He talked about the blight of the poor and Margaret found herself agreeing that something had to be done.

The young noblemen spoke with passion and reverence. Margaret wanted nothing more than to walk up to him and tell him that she agreed with every word he had said. She wanted to talk to him and to tell him all that she had hidden from everyone else. Life at court forces people to live in fear and secrecy but Margaret knew that there didn't have to be any secrets from him – she could trust this man with her life!

At that instant, Margaret was actually able to hear the thoughts in her own head: she wanted to give this young nobleman – a man she didn't know everything. _Oh, my! _She thought to herself in near horror. Why was it that he could control her like that? He must be a very good speaker indeed! Margaret felt herself blush as she turned to the Lady next to her, the wife of Mayor de Ruxe, and asked in a shy voice, "Do you know the name of that young man?"

"Why yes," the woman began, "that is the nephew of Count De Cane. He is visiting from Gain."

Margaret stared at the man longingly… there was something about him that beckoned her. Something that asked her what she thought was voluble and worthwhile and told her that he thought she was the most perfect female in the room at the same time. All the energy in the room seemed to focus on him and he seemed to focus it back to her. He had everything and he was willing to give everything… She could not help but walk towards him.

Three gray nobles watched Margaret migrate the room with silent smiles of triumph covering their faces. They had successfully turned Greg into a noble. The transformation had not been an easy one for either party…

His bald head was covered in sweat and his voice shook with anger as he turned to the young man beside side him and fought not to shout the words that were streaming from his mouth: "Not like that! This is not a barn raising or a pub gathering. Try again…"

Greg breathed slowly – he knew that he had to keep his wits about him. The old man explained the rules of the court and although parts were after the setting of many an assembly, the assembly was never enjoyable or relaxed. One wrong word could allow your head to fall to the executioner's ax. One wrong phrase and the "great revolution for rights" would be over. All of the years Gregory and his friends had worked would be for nothing. All the sacrifices that Gregory's parents and family had made would have been wasted…

This was something Gregory had to do right – even with the old nut standing next to him and yelling rubbish into his ear! The man had a motive of his own that Greg was not sure understood but as long as the man was fighting for the same ends as the good of the people of France, Greg would not question the reasons. He was just glad that he and the old men were on the same side – at least for now.

As much as Greg hated the Nobles, he also knew that he owned them a huge dept. If they had not offered to help him, Greg would be in the café planning yet another semi-ludicrous revolution with his college friends. All of them (he and his friends) had the same value and ideals. They had the same goal and the same background – yes, they were destined to all have the same resources and the same plan. The nobles added so much to the discussion that real planning could not and often did not take place. Greg could not believe that the men who could only find one solution at a time last month were now on their way to deciphering thousands! Answers were in their grasp like never before.

None of the Nobles seemed to really too involved in the brainstorming or teaching process with the other students (except to give money to the other fighters of course). The bald man's growing involvement in the lives of the students made Greg more and more suspicious of his teacher and the old man's friends. Greg had seen the evil of nobles and it was difficult for him to believe that they would help him or the peasants. They were selfish but the king was the father of the people of Bantor. Once he heard of the evil he would come and save his children – as any father would!

Greg had done everything the man had told him – even the silly things the old man told him like not to hanger up his clothes. It had taken weeks and weeks to perfect the techniques that Gregory's "uncle" had taught him: How to speak and eat and move your hand, when to be introduced and how to start a proper conversation – and that was just the beginning. Now his mentors wanted him to get this girl away to win the king's favor.

It all sounded easy: talk smooth and get the girl. There was more to this court business than any of the peasants knew. It seemed easy – getting all you wanted because you were of high birth – the truth is so much darker than anyone who has not seen will believe. The nobles live with the same amount of fear as the peasants. The peasants and poor fear starvation and powerlessness with the same raving stern bluntness as the nobles fear dishonor and rumors. Court-life could get someone killed just like robbing can. Yet, both thieving and court games can also make any cautious man rich.

Greed was the draw of it – the count's seat at court would go to his only child – his daughter. Women could not attend to the business aspect of court, so the title and riches of the court entrée would go to the heiress' husband. Gregory's only job was to make sure that the seat didn't go to the Gainish Don. Who the girl did marry didn't really matter. It was whom she DIDN'T that counted as far as Greg and his noble "friends" were concerned.

He saw the girl in question staring at him – he easily recognized her from the many paintings that the other nobles had shown him. She was wearing the latest silk fashions. Most of the boys at the college would have gone with her just by looks, before knowledge of her vast wealth even came up but looks and fashion alone are not enough in the Bantorian court. Only the most ruthless and cunning can survive here.

"My Lady," he greeted her with the Spanish accent he had perfected in the months of practice that had been allowed him. She curtsied him with her eyes downcast, as any modest woman would do. He was afraid she maybe more timid than he first thought but he was quickly relieved when she gripped the arm that he offered her.

"Is Bantor always so beautiful this time of the year?" He asked her glancing into her eyes as she peered out the window and saw the gray, cloud-covered sky. "Once I am in your company the room, nay, the entire country-side seems to light up," he explained as her cheeks roughed darker. The girl glanced down.

"I fear we have not been properly introduced," she reminded him and Greg mentally kicked himself. The old man had reminded him during their practices several times.

"Why you are right, My Lady! I am merely a stranger in this land. I am the nephew of Count Mau. I have come to visit from Gains where I live with my family. And you, Beautiful Lady?"

"I am Margaret Ramante. My father is a member of King Louis' court like your uncle. He is the duke of Damaneti"

He was relieved that they were in a courtly room where dancing would not be respectable. Greg liked dancing normally, in jigs and county dances, but to waltz with a Lady with all these experienced nobles around… They would surely spot him as a fraud! Luckily, Margaret was content to just sit and talk with Greg. She described her life in France and her daily duties. He was surprised that they were similar to his own: going to cafes with friends, going to balls and dances, even visiting the poor! He was beginning to like this girl but then, she did the one thing he hoped she wouldn't:

"How does it compare to your life in Gains?"

Greg's mind went blank as his pulse quickened… Why hadn't the old man thought him anything about Gains? Could this be a set-up?

Greg quickly pushed the thoughts from his head and tried to concentrate. He went back to History Lectures. There had to be something he could piece an answer from! Useless memories of this war and that king came into his head. Greg shook his head as a voice came from behind him.

"Gains is nothing like Bantor," interrupted a tall stranger. Greg's already thumping heart went into a panic. Now his chest left like it would explode from shock and nervousness. Margaret stood next to him and smiled at the stranger. "Excuse me, young Lady. I believe we have not been properly introduced. I am King Ambros' ambassador and will be representing him here." He smiled down at Margaret and then turned to Greg. "I am sure you have seen me at court," said the stranger to Greg.

"I regret to say that I was only at the King's court a short time. My uncle thought it urgent that I come with him in Bantor." Greg glanced behind him in a mock show of privacy. "His health is fragile, you see."

The ambassador nodded as he asked, "What part of Spain are you from? I cannot place your accent."

"My family lives in the country by the mountains," Greg repeated the lie he was told. The ambassador nodded to Greg and continued on his way. Greg breathed a sigh of relief and the evening continued without event. He talked with Margaret for hours and then dinned with the other men to talk of politics away from the Ladies' delicate ears.

After the dinner was over and all parties met in the drawing room, Margaret set out looking for Greg. She found him in a small nook talking loudly to other men. "The peasants are in pain while we feast," she heard him say. He opened his mouth to continue but was quickly interrupted by several voices. A small chaos ensued as Margaret backed away and saw Greg practically pinned to the far wall. The bald noble stopped them all when he said in a sturdy, aged voice. "My nephew is very passionate. He is a student."

Everyone stopped, as if the statement explained everything. Greg was not longer pinned to a wall – in fact the entire room was moving freely once again. He saw that Margaret was smiling as she walked over to him. "You are a great speaker. I am sure that you will make a wonderful politician and bring great things to Louis' court." He blushed but she continued anyway, moving so close to him that her mouth touched his ear. She spoke her next words in less than a whisper as if it were some ghastly secret. "I agree with every word you said." As soon as the words left her mouth she moved away and stepped into a coach her father had waiting.

Greg blew out the candles in the hall then and there and walked away. He wanted to throw water on all of them! This lady seemed to be worth all the jewels in France to the old man but he did not see what all the fuss was about. The girl said one thing and did another. She wasn't even worth a simple response. After this great fight where she runs and hides, she decides that the cause is with fighting for? Sure she was beautiful and rich but no one could know what the strange girl was thinking – what she did and what she taught were two totally different things. What happened to following your heart and acting on and for a cause greater than your own?

"Don't be too hard on the girl," the old man said in the same commanding voice. "She has been in Court a very long time…"

As he sat on his bed and prepared for sleep a glorious fantasy occurred to him: what if the old man's fantasy was real? What if all the feelings and speeches weren't lies? After about two seconds of wondering through his over-active imagination, Greg found myself turning to his writing desk with a quill in his hand. There were some things that Greg knew had to be done right – a letter of introduction and propriety was one of them. Francis, the old man had spent hours and hours teaching the proper way to write. Gregory had written more business letters than he could count in school and letters of Introduction were very similar in style to that of business.

_What is marriage if not a contract?_ Greg asked himself as he smiled over the now covered letterhead. His smiling face turned to the door just as Francis appeared in the doorway…

"You embarrassed me in front of every noble in Bantor. Do it again and I will have you shipped to Spain to work in those famous ships of theirs." Fire burned in his eyes as the old man walked into the room and stopped dead with mere inches between himself and his young ward.

"You weren't the only one in trouble out there. There was an ambassador from Spain and he nearly saw through my disguise! I know nothing of Spain and he has lived there his whole life. He will spot me as a fake very quickly!"

"We can fix little things like that quickly." Greg was about to retort that the problem was anything but little but Francis continued in his coarse. "How do things go with the girl? Did Don Anthony confront you?"

"Could the new ambassador be in league with the others? The girl is taken with me… Even after the "incident" she had nothing but complements for me."

"Very good…"

The men turned in for the night without another word to each other. Marcus wished that things would go so smoothly in his own home.

**Chapter Nineteen:**

Marcus, Anthony and the Atechs

Marcus had seen what the thing that now lived in his home could do – It listened to Anthony without question. Carlos listened to and respected his boss but he would never hurt his son. Marcus knew that he was safe with his real father and he knew that this thing was not safe… therefore this thing could not be his father! He had tried to use excuses for the strange things that happened when Anthony was around but this was too much. His father was gone and it was all Anthony's fault!

_Could the strange man have wanted this all along?_ Marcus pushed the paranoid thought from his head. Anthony was strange and he knew that the man had motives that no one understood but purposely hurting a friend seemed harsh even for him! Carlos had known the man for years and he seemed to trust the Spaniard. Marcus felt a flush of shame as he realized what he was doing… He was forgetting who he was. First he was running away and now he naturally distrusting his father like he had done so his entire life. All of this knew strangeness was beginning to wear him down.

He hated the uncertainty of it all! Marcus wanted his father to be his father again. Things were never great – Marcus knew that his father was often worried and that they could not always afford everything that they wanted or needed… but things were never terrible. Marcus was used to his life. It had a normalcy that he knew that he was dependent on. It wasn't a great life but it was his and he enjoyed it while it lasted.

The house and the working life-style were not the things that Marcus held dear – what boy would wish for these things? It was Carlos Marcus wanted… What could a boy do without his father? He would go back to poverty and hard labor if it meant going back to his father (his real father and not just some monster inside of his father). Marcus thought about all of this as he walked.

He did not realize he was even walking. This whole mess started out with him running from the thing… That could not have been a bad thing. Marcus knew that the swiftness of his escape had saved his life. Of course, what Marcus really needed was to save his father and that required going back. How could he go back? Braine knew that he lacked courage but it scarred him more when he realized that he also lacked another thing: directions…

"Where am I," he pondered aloud in an open field full of trees at the west end. Fear gripped his chest in a vise. Saving Carlos was now Marcus's top priority… How could he have left the man alone? Marcus felt relief well in him as he noticed that two other people sat in the clearing with him. He thought about going up to them and asking for directions but he quickly gave up on the idea: these people could be some of Anthony's friends. They were nobles just like him and he could not imagine that they would d anything to help a low servant.

Yes, Marcus was young but he lived in the same world adults did: he had a job and he walked on the same streets. He saw the things that they saw and deduced the same truths from those experiences that they did. He saw that the nobles were not only treated differently than the peasants – as far as Marcus could see, the nobles thought that they were different and who was he to argue? The world thought that nobles deserved to be better than him and the world knew more than little Marcus.

Whatever made them different, Marcus could not tell. Nobles looked like peasants – well, their clothes were better… Did that mean that Marcus would be as good and wise and powerful as a noble if he only put on nicer clothe? Did a few feet of silk and lace make a person better? Was it the fact that nobles were "bread" to be nobles (Marcus was not sure what this phrase really means. Carlos and Anthony had used the word quite often in this concept)? Thoughts ran through Marcus's head so quickly that he did not notice that the lady was looking and him.

"Are you lost, child?"

"N-no, Miss." Marcus prayed that the woman would leave him alone so that he could find his way back and look for a way to save his father. He turned quickly, knowing that no one would be worried about politeness and society out in the middle of the valley. Still, the lady was very persistent. "Wait! Please. We only want to help you. There is no need to be afraid!"

The boy still ran. He ran so fast that he thought that his lungs would explode but he was forced to stop when the hand of his father came down on him and gripped his shoulder with a harsh, crushing sweeze. "I have been looking for you."

Marcus tried to run but the thing just gripped him tighter. The small boy yelled out in pain. "Stop! Leave him alone," demanded a female voice from somewhere to the south. The thing threw Marcus into the cluster of trees and ran to the lady in the blue dress. Marcus met blackness just after hearing her scream.

Marcus awoke with his mind demanding answers to a torrent of questions. He found himself sitting in a richly cushioned carriage next to two nobles and they asked him every question they could think of. All the questions came at him at once. He heard the words but he was not really listening. He made it easier on all of them by just telling the story from the beginning.

"One Invaders took my father down this hall," said Marcus, pointing the other way. Gregory shrugged and followed Marcus down the hill. Both Marcus and Gregory cried out Carlos's name as they walked past the trees but they did not even receive a whispered call in response. In a glen far to the right stood three men clad in brown. The three of them stood huddled together around a strange object. Marcus and Gregory got on all fours and struggled to get closer to see what the object could be. After the three men lifted their heads (they had only done so a fraction of an inch) the two on-lookers could see that the object was nothing more than a stone with strange symbols.

Horror ran through Marcus when he saw that one of the three men in brown was Anthony! Greg could not help but feel a pang of shock, as he looked into the eyes of noble who wanted nothing more than to kill all the farmers and peasants in all the kingdoms. Worse still, he wanted to make them all think that he was their friend before annihilating them. He rubbed Marcus's back, hoping to bring some comfort. Still, fear mumped the small boy's mind but he did the only thing he could think to do.

The boy turned and ran. He didn't really know where he was going at first but the only goal he had at the moment was to get away from Anthony. The Greg ran after Marcus as quietly as he could. Marcus ran without looking – he just wanted to get away from Anthony! He nearly ran into Margaret but she wrapped her arms around him. Fear still tugged at the child's mind but Margaret cued into the boy's ear until he calmed down.

The Invaders had planned on starting the schemes by joining forces with the elves of the forest. The elves had lived in hiding for generations but the recent expansion would soon force them to reveal themselves. Yet, the plan was not going as expected. The Invaders could all since that something was wrong.

Mother Earth seemed to be calling them to action but no one knew whom the action was for or whom it was against. They could literally taste the suspension and confusion of the Earth as it contemplated. Just round one more day could bring disaster for either side but both chose not to acknowledge their own vulnerability. Everyone could feel the coolness of the night air and the moist breath after the rain from the dense woods. The feeling was invigorating but Carlos could not invasion anything like freedom even in the environment. He was trapped in his own body and nothing could stop the Monster once it took over him. It was like a never-ending shadow. It covered everything it could reach in darkness and it reached further than Carlos or Marcus could see.

In all the rush and excitement to follow the boy, Gregory had not noticed that the shrill chants and hackling laughter that sounded evil and cruel have stopped. The three men in brown had stopped their strange dance in the glen. Suddenly silence fell and became so deep that a thunderbolt could not have pierced it. It was as if a trap had snapped but Greg was not about to let it stop him. His mission was to save all of France! The noble men were easily distracted. It was as if they were pinned still and tided to the ground. The people needed a hero and even though some had cried out for the king to save them, Greg knew that the king could not stop the Invaders or the trouble that was to come. The only way to save Bantor is for all of the country to join together and work for the good of all. A king cannot eat if a farmer does not grow food. What Bantor really needed was someone who could bring all the different classes together. Gregory grabbed Margaret and the child and lead them through the trees to the carriage once more. He prayed that it was not too late and that he had not fallen into a trap.

Anthony had smiled… his plan had worked perfectly. Well, almost perfectly: Marcus still proved to be a problem. Marcus was a problem because he was the only thing Carlos really loved. Anthony could feel Carlos fighting against the shadow spell and the monster it had unleashed. The peasant was stronger than Anthony had thought: He had managed to stop the monster at certain moments. Each time Carlos was only able to stop it when the monster threatened the life of his son. The Atechs respect the "wisdom" of children and many of the spells they make will have no effect on anyone under the age of 18 years. The Law said that the children were sacred because they could see without eyes clouded by hate. As much power has Anthony had, he knew that the Law had more. The Powers that had created the magic, respected children and they were the judges. Anthony had no say. He cringed in anger just thinking about a dead, pointless thing trying to steal his glory.

The civilization great-great-great-great-great-grandmother's generation wrote the Law down. Centuries after her time the people were still following the Law in their own ways but everyone still continued listening to and respecting the young. Now, in Bantor, the majority of people ignored such Laws. The old were respected in this culture because it is assumed that they have lived so long for a reason. Still, many times the old are not the most wise…

Out of fear of becoming clouded by hate, the entire community fallowed the Law. Well, the entire Atech community. Anthony always hated the Law. He swore that it was written simply to annoy him. Those crazy savages just wanted to control the civilized community. Still, Anthony knew that he could not compete with the Law. There were too many superstitious people around for any thing to be that simple.

When the other two men saw Greg, Margaret, and Marcus they screamed that the child must be allowed to run so the Law could be followed. These men were not Atechs but they were more naïve than even the most corrupt savage. Anthony knew that he had to follow the Law for these people once more:

"The Law says that every person must be tried by the Heart and that every child's heart will be the basis – all hearts will be compared to theirs'. We will bring them to a place where we can see what their right is according to the Law," bellowed Anthony to the other two. His voice boomed and echoed in the woods and the chase had begun.

Gregory snapped the carriage's reigns on the two horses, encouraging them to go faster. Anthony and his men were getting closer and closer to them. Horses carrying single riders traveled with greater speed than any carriage. Greg did not see any hope of out running Anthony. The only option left in Greg's mind was to out smart him.

He shifted through his mind to list the resources he had: the carriage, the horses… The main problem was that Anthony had horses as well. A single horse was easier to maneuver in the woods. Anthony and his men had speed, maneuverability, and number s all on their side. Gregory was still lost in his thoughts when Carlos and Anthony moved their steeds to align them with the moving carriage. Greg tried to concentrate on the road in front of him and look for an advantage. His concentration was broken when Marcus began to scream.

Luckily, the real Carlos noticed his son's danger and he came out of hiding to fight the thing that threatened his son. Anthony was knocked off of his horse and Greg began to relax thinking that luck had finally turned. Unfortunately, his relaxation was short lived.

Once the Carriage reached the edge of the forest, Gregory believed that they were out of danger. He stopped the horses and let them rest. He helped Margaret and Marcus out of the carriage. Marcus, of course, moved towards his father but he stopped half way to his arms.

Carlos's eyes had turned a deep red: so red that they looked black. Marcus knew that his father was no longer himself. "You think that you and your little family can fight me? I am a god in Atech. Do not under estimate me! You may think you won for that instant but I will make you pay." The thing was using Carlos's mouth to smile. It was obvious that the smile was not natural. The cruel eyes and gleaming teeth looked unearthly on Carlos's face.

Turning to Gregory, the monster that had taken oven over Carlos continued: "I am a god and I will act as a god should and give you mere mortals a chance. I will allow you to fight me instead of simply killing you now. If you win the game, you win your life and that of your friends…you know nothing of the rules but I believe this game will entertain me." He paused in speech as a smile played on his thin black lips. "To make it more interesting, I will allow you to choose one member of your group to fight me."

The three travelers talked in a whisper but every Invader in the whole forest could hear their conversation. They came to a conclusion rather quickly: the monster was right. None of them knew the rules but he was also wrong in underestimating them. The Bantorians had one tool that not even the nobles seemed to give them credit for: group instinct! Their best chance was to relay on numbers, play the silly game for now but soon, someone from the Court would hear of this. Win one game – or at least make it last as long as possible and then spread the word about the truth! The tool of instinct may seem like a small one but it had worked in the past. Many great wars had been won with numbers and not with shear force. Any the men would be able to testify that speech giving had little to do with words. To get a person to risk their life, uproar needed to occur. If one person yelled instinct made the rest of the crowd join in. Instinct was the only tool the men of Bantor had but they were willing to play it to its full advantage.

"We do not need to choose one person. If you think that really do not have a chance at winning, then you should not mind letting us work as a team," yelled Gregory excitedly. "Put your coin where your mouth is… You say that you have all confidence in your skill." The monster paused in Carlos's body. "Are you saying that all the skills you claim to have could not defeat a child and two mortals who do not even know the rules?"

Carlos's head nodded with an evil sneer. "I will do better than that! You will play the game as a team and I will still come out victorious! I'll even tell you the rules: just to give myself a bit of a challenge. Now, lets make this simple for your small mortal minds!" Yelled the monster. "All you have to do is draw a Beast Script that is stronger than the one I do twice. You can combine one Beast with one Will Script to make it stronger. All you have to do is beat me twice but be careful. I hide scripts in the Labyrinth Board to make it more interesting."

Carlos's mouth curved in a forced smile, a smile that seemed overflowing with joy still; the smirk never reached his eyes. Only hatred and malice lingered in the depths of his soul so deep that it can be seen through his eyes. Carlos looked in the threesome's direction but never at them. "This game will decide the fate of all of you. I guess you had better start to practice," he mumbled in an ironic twist over the roar of the wind and clapped his hands for trays to appear before them. So, the game began


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Twenty: The Second Game

A tray with three different decks of the scripts was placed on a stump before Carlos. "Oh, no. Let the doomed group choose first," the monster said quickly with a motion of his barrowed body's hand.

Both Carlos and Gregory stood on small hills that were just tall enough to see into a maze that had formed in the leafy grass below them. The narrow walls of the labyrinth maze were wide enough for nothing but one of the scripts to fit between them. Both players were supposed to move their pieces to the center of the board where an "x" marked the finish line. The decks of scripts Gregory and Carlos had chosen sat in front of them on the hills. Carlos's mouth grinned slightly as the monster put the scripts into play. He laid three scripts on the Labyrinth Board face down. It was the group's turn now. Greg couldn't think of anything to do. He barely understood the game! He just drew five scripts, as Carlos had done, and looked at them.

These scripts were unlike anything Gregory had ever seen in the school or the farm. They had ornate pictures on every script and each one was different than the other. One of the scripts he drew had a dragon with twelve heads. The next script had a fountain with gold water falling onto grapes. The third had a bright sun standing over a large castle. Greg knew that the three of these were Beast Scripts because a small wolf silhouette sat in the corner. The next two scripts were Will Scripts. They both had a tendril of smoke in the corner. The first Will Script had a long twisting road. The second had a blue snake on the edge of a cliff. The pictures were so realistic. They each seemed to jump out of every script. The things that really confused and almost frightened Gregory were the words at the bottom of the scripts. They seemed to be written in a different language. He was sure that the thing in front of him was in league with Anthony and Bantor's enemies. He could tell from the look in Carlos's eyes that they were laying a trap of some kind. Should he even play? Was this just a diversion?

With all his worrying, Gregory knew that it would come to nothing: he had to play. What else could he do? Greg knew that the others: Margaret, Marcus, Francis, even all of Bantor, was relying on him. He had to do something to help them and there was nothing else to say. So, he laid down two scripts with care that made it seem like he knew what he was doing. One Beast Script with 1000 points and the picture of the fountain (the highest script out of the five in his hand) and the road Will Script. It added 200 points to the Beast Script. That made 1200 points in all. Carlos would have to beat all those points! Maybe he had a chance after all!

Unfortunately, Carlos had more than Greg and Margaret's 1200 points. The monster flipped his scripts up and reviled three pictured scripts. The scripts' pictures illuminated an overwhelming feeling. They almost felt alive…like they could think and feel themselves. The scripts in his deck looked and felt dark and cruel. Everyone in the city could feel the hate seeping out of those scripts. Each picture on the scripts portrayed death and fire. One Beast Script had a rotting corps on the front. It looked powerful but Gregory would have never guessed that it had over 1500 points on its' own. With the added points from the skull Will Scripts the total came out at 2200 points. Carlos was able to move 100 spaces on the Labyrinth Board. Gregory was blown away as he physically felt the loss in his very core. A force from the game itself sent his head spinning. The monster saw the surprise in Gregory and Margaret's eyes and grinned.

"You wanted this to be a team," he jeered with mirth in Carlos's eyes. Seeing their pain made the win even better in the monster's mind. He moved a piece closer to the center of the Labyrinth. He was in a heavy lead when compared to the team opposite him.

How could anyone beat this creature? He and his scripts were so strong. They were not even of this world. Who was to say what this was really about? This was just too uncertain but then Greg remembered the two people behind him and he knew that he had to continue. The monster enjoyed causing pain and would inflict it on them and all the people in Bantor if he had the chance. Greg knew that he couldn't let that happen to any of them. He had to keep going. Gregory drew another script, hoping that it would be a strong one.

His wish was granted: it was powerful. The Beast Script had 2500 points and a picture of a burning book by a chest in the sky. He was about to lay the script on the board when he noticed something: the words on the bottom of the script started to look like Bantorian letters. He was about to examine it closer but the letters went back to their original squiggles instantly. Eyes must be playing tricks. He put the script on the Labyrinth Board and Carlos did the same as was done before.

The scripts were shown. Margaret's heart skipped a beat as she waited for the result. The monster's cruel, dark scripts added up to 2600 but theirs added up to 2700. They had won the round! Greg's piece moved 100 spaces on the Labyrinth Board. The game was now tied and Marcus prayed to keep winning. Even a small child like him knew how important the game was!

The monster's anger made Carlos's face go from a soft pink to a bright red as he pulled out more scripts and went first. He slammed down two more scripts on the board and gestured to Greg and the other two. Greg allowed Marcus to draw the script. His heart leaped as he saw that it was one Will Script. Greg put this new Will Script with the Castle Beast Script to total to 2600 points. He was about to put them down when he noticed something strange: The scripts were written in Bantorian again!

What was making it do that? The light or the slant or… THE EYES! Greg knew it then: He was looking through the scripts not at them. He saw double and the "letters" began to blend and formed words.

The words were written in an old fashioned way of speaking. Most people in Bantor would have been confused but the college's best professors taught Gregory the old tongue long ago. It said:

_Do not rely on sight because _

_what you see can frighten you_

_Place your trust in Hope._

His teacher' words came flooding back. A man who taught long ago was a Prince who lived as a poor carpenter. He was really the True King's son but He came to Earth to live as a commoner die for everyone. Greg never understood what his teachers meant and he still wasn't completely sure. There was still more to the story that he did not know. His teachers never really believed that he would understand the rest but the words of the True King were calling out to him. The scholar in Greg wanted to read each and every one of the scripts until he knew all there was to know. No detail of the story seemed too small to go without notice but the patriot in him reminded him of his priorities. Gregory knew that the True King was helping him and he thought that was all he needed to know. The True King had sent these scripts to him to save the men but the scripts were not filled with the words of the True King. The story of the True King's son, the One Prince was written on the scripts that Greg held in his hands. The True King would use the One Prince to save men again because the Prince did not stay dead when he was killed – He conquered death and came back to life! Gregory prayed that the two people standing next to him would be able to beat death through the scripts as well.

He put the script down with peace and without worry. It didn't matter how many points the scripts he put down had. The True King was with him. He showed Carlos the scripts and Carlos's face paled through the red anger. Greg's scripts had 2600 points and his had 2300 points. All three of them breathed out a sigh of relief with the air he didn't know he was holding. He had won freedom for himself and the rest of the Bantorians… or he thought he had.

**Chapter Twenty-One:**

The Real Fight

"You have won your freedom," the monster told the group using Carlos's voice that he laced with venom on every breath, "but all of Bantor is still our enemy. Only a fool lets his enemies escape alive." The monster paused only to pull out his sword and then continued. "So, I will have to make sure no enemies end up coming back to my master's city alive!" A fight ensued: The monster had the obvious advantage… It had weapons and an advantage in strength. Greg did all he could to keep the three of them alive: He told the other two what to do as they grabbed at rocks and sticks – anything they could use as a weapon. Greg ran to the equipment shed where he had been polishing Francis' old armor. He had seen a storage bin full of knives, javelins, and swords. He knew that the other two were without weapons and they couldn't survive long in that condition. The first priority was to get supplies. They needed weapons as soon as possible even though they were not trained.

Luckily Gregory was always a Farm boy at heart and he still possessed the strength of a field hand. He could easily carry ten heavy broad swords and a few knives as an added measure to the other two who were waiting for him in the woods. Greg ran as fast as he could – which was remarkably fast for a man with such short legs! He had made it to the place where he had left them in as little as a minute. Yet, the monster was already winning. The monster was using more magic and had called specters to fight for him. Both Margaret and Braine were fighting small groups separately and the spirits were already backing them up into corners where it would be impossible to maneuver even the smallest weapon. Luckily, he had arrived just in time to stop that from happening.

Every Bantorian knew the story of the Other War, the war that took place in another world. The story said that creatures of the other world could be defeated in two ways:

Use a charmed weapon against them (all charmed weapons are marked with thistle signs on their hilts).

Blue strips woven by creatures of light must be drug through the specter's center.

Francis had had both of these weapons in his shed and Greg planned on using both to his advantage. He used the ribbons on the specters that were trying to attack Margaret and the charmed sword on the spirits that were attacking Marcus. The creatures let out horrible screams. Margaret covered her ears every time they sounded but the dead had to be done. It was either the three of them, who had a life in front of them, or the spirits, who were already dead. Greg did what he had to do and then the three of them fled back to the carriage.

Chapter Twenty-Two: All that Carlos remembered

(Or thought he remembered)

Greg knew that propriety ordered young couples to stay within the eyesight of a chaperone but he also knew that Margaret enjoyed changing those unwritten – but widely known and obeyed – rules of society. He decided to let her have her fun and even to play around with her. Francis agreed with the plan – saying that no father would anger a daughter who was willing to risk her reputation in such a way as this: there was no telling when she would take the next step and leave without being in a proper marriage. He took her to the place where they could be in private. Let the servants and the court members' talk! This would certainly move things forward!

He had planned on having a romantic walk around the prairie by the woods. He had set up a coach and a basket of food hours before he had planned on meeting Margaret. He knew that she would want to do this for the fun and adventure of keeping the court on their toes. Greg agreed that there was a possibility that Margaret would see the trip as too scandalous and refuse but he doubted that she would: Margaret was famous in some circles of the court for her daring escapades. Some even said that Louis allowed her to keep her father's seat because of them – her actions showed real backbone and proved to Louis that even a lowly female could show courage.

Of course, she did agree and the two of them road in silence as Margaret looked out the window. Greg sat and looked at her. He watched her eyes grow bigger and bigger as they got closer to their destination. She has been in that house too long, Greg thought to himself. None of his college chumps would look so doe-eyed at trees and flowers.

"This was a wonderful idea. It is so nice to be out of doors on a beautiful day."

"Yes, I was hoping that you would like it. I always find a walk away from the city to be very relaxing and invigorating."

Suddenly, Margaret stopped walking and held her mouth agape. "Look at that small boy. What could he be doing all the way out here?"

"There are no houses around here…" Gregory began.

"He must be lost!" Margaret's hand flew to her heart. Her sympathies were instantly flowing toward the young boy. She began to walk towards the clearing where the boy stood.

"Maybe I should walk up to the boy…" Gregory could not bring himself to trust a stranger like the lady could.

"It's nothing… He's only a boy," Margaret continued to walk as she explained to Greg that the child would not hurt her.

He quickly began to agree with her when he saw the boy's look of fear when he saw her moving towards him. The boy spoke respectfully to her but left as soon as he could.

"He seems rattled," Greg admitted to Margaret. "Why is he in such a hurry?" Margaret too felt that there was something deeper. The boy, of course did not trust them. He thought that they were like the others – Margaret knew what other nobles did to the peasants under their rule. Many of them bragged about the harsh punishments they had dealt out as if it made them a better ruler.

"Wait! We won't hurt you!" Margaret yelled after the boy as she fallowed him into the woods. She chased him blindly and never noticed the other man until it was too late. Luckily, Greg did see him. He ran to the stranger as he dove at Margaret. It was first the speed and then the strength that told him that this "man" was not a normal man. Greg was lucky enough to find a large branch in his reach when the thing pinned him down with one arm as he reached for the Lady with the other.

Greg swung the branch with all his might as he aimed it at the monster's head. The thing went down with a snap and a jerk of the head. By this time the boy was at the top of the crest of trees. "Papa!" yelled the boy as he knelt next to the thing. Margaret and Greg simply stared at him in shock – the boy reached out to touch the body of his father but was denied even that – at the touch of his fingers the body instantly turned to smoke.

The boy began to cry in huge, gapping sobs that shook his small body. Greg out his arm around the boy and patted his chest. "Come with me," Margaret commanded the boy in a gentle voice. "We'll take care of you."

Chapter Twenty-Three: What's in a Name?

The three of them rode back to the manor in a grand carriage. Gregory and Margaret had been riding is coaches for quiet some time but it was Marcus's first carriage ride and despite his fear for his father, he was festinated by the carriage. He watched the rhythmic movement of the seats and the horses and tried to move his head in the same fashion. Margaret found herself staring back and forth between the boy and the young noble. The child was still worried but easily distracted with the new experience of being in a carriage. Gregory on the other hand was using his nervous energy to keep them safe – always looking behind him and asking the coachman to use side streets. Little did they know that they were riding into a civil war zone.

Peasants hurriedly ran through the crowd and handed broad swords to each man they saw in brown clothing. A young boy was handing his last two swords to a tall man when an archer's arrow rises through the air and managed to hit the now unarmed boy in the lung. The child gripped the arrow that protruded in his chest with both hands and ran towards the enemy line. Rage filled the eyes and hearts of many peasants as they saw that the child was unarmed.

Greg watched the carnage and swore that he heard the monster's menacing laughter as another riot broke out in front of them. It was then that Marcus saw his father in the fight in front of them. He yelled out in fright and pointed the figure out to both Margaret and Gregory. Again, the scream of his child brought Carlos out of his spell. Unfortunately, Anthony's lackey stood right next to him. The goon saw the clouds leave Carlos's eyes as panic replaced it. He punched Carlos in the jaw, knowing that the monster was no longer in control.

"No one will even guess at what you really are," the goon had said as his commanding voice assented into a shrill staccato. Carlos had felt the hate boil in him then and knew that the monster would return soon. Still, the beast did not inhabit him yet. Now he let all the pain and emotion he was feeling bottle up inside escape out. Carlos raised the sword over his head and swung at anything and anyone that got between himself and his son. People peasants and nobles alike fell around Carlos left and right. He hacked and stabbed at nothing at times in his blind rage and anger. Carlos didn't bother to turn his daze away from the carriage when he heard a bellowed howl and a yell from the city's entrance, "In the sky!" Wind burst through the buildings and blotted out the faint light. Peasants ran deep into the long churches and homes, scrambling for darkness and shelter from the breeze.

Everyone looked up to where a noble in golden yellow was pointing. The sky was full of winged creatures. With wingspans up to sixteen feet and bodies as hard as stone and the color of blood, these monsters were terrifying. The three-person party looked up in awe. They moved closer to the entrance as peasants ran past them deeper into the city's center.

"They almost look like humans…"Margaret mumbled next to Marcus as they all stared out the carriage's window. And she was right – the creatures' bodies did resemble that of a man: they had two arms and two legs and one head. The biggest difference in the silhouette was the addition of wings. Yet, the difference seemed huge because the wings were the creatures' most prominent feature even compared to their stony bodies.

The creatures' wings beat strong winds that the humans had to fight against just to stay on their two feet. Marcus though, seemed to be having the hardest time adjusting to the wind the wings had brought. He moved his fingers into a claw-like shape to grip the earth beneath him just to keep himself from flying through the air and blowing away. Half the winged creatures swarmed around the group while the other half dived deeper into the city. Gregory drew one of the swords he had left from the battle and the other two were about the draw weapons of their own when Francis shouted, "No!" above the roaring wind from a window high above them.

"They are trying to stop the fighting. They are on our side." Even little Marcus saw the logic in Francis's words and kept his own sword sheathed to wait. It seemed like hours had passed under the great windstorm. The three of them stood silently waiting while Marcus did the best he could to hang on. Relief washed over all of them as the creatures landed and the wind stopped… That relief was short-lived.

The creature's wind had moved them. Winged creatures and tall houses now surrounded the small party of eleven. There was nothing familiar in sight. The buildings and houses rose taller than the trees and came to a point at the tallest section of the layered roof where small feathers clung to sap and honey. Eight or ten houses sat on a row and grouped around a pole like a patch of flowers circles around a tree. Behind the houses was nothing but open fields. There were no woods in sight. "Where are we?" Gregory wondered out loud.

"Welcome to the city of the Negg Elves. It is our city and we protect it," said a gravelly voice from above them. "We attacked the city hoping to stop the fight of shallow men who do not know what they are doing and instead we find you. What are a student, a Lady and a child doing in the middle of a battle?" Everyone stared… who and what were these things? The Negg Elves that flew directly above them was slightly stronger than the others. His wings seemed to have an extra layer or two of feathers making the wind from them all the more powerful. The stronger wings and outspoken manner of the Negg Elves made Gregory believe that the one addressing them was the leader.

"We apologize if we have caused trouble, but we were also trying to stop the violence," said Gregory, hoping to find a common ground with the new creatures and maybe even finding a new ally.

The creature's stony face smiled. "Do men not fear wars? Your race has never been brave enough to try to love without such petty things. You run whenever something stronger comes up. Why are things changing now?"

Gregory tried to keep a calm expression on his face but inside his blood was boiling. "Creatures threatened our kind before. They even stole from us and nothing was ever done until they hurt us. Recently Invaders and civil war has forced people to raid homes and kill their neighbors… Inaction was not an option. Humans had to do something. We had to fight them to save our home and our lives."

"The race of Man is braver than I had first thought," said the winged creature slowly. Gregory and Margaret relaxed knowing that the creature was no longer hostile or insulting. The words acted like a salve on fresh wounds. The burning sting of the old words seemed to be soothed with the cool touch of the new. "We have the same enemy, and the enemy of my enemy is my friend." The stony leader seemed to be considering a thousand and two thoughts in his baldhead. "Please come and rest here for the night," the Negg Elf finally said with slow words and careful choices.

"That is a good offer and I am sorry we cannot accept but we still have much more to do. Our quest is to destroy the differences that divide men and bring them together as one race. Peasants and nobles should work together for the good of all and not have these petty arguments. The Invaders would be forced to leave then," Francis explained with the same careful tone the Negg Elf used.

"Your kind is certainly ambitious… Please stay the night. My army is tired and needs rest. In the morning, we will bring you back to the woods where your quest can be finished."

"Why do you want to help us?" asked Gregory carefully. "Why not just take the easy way out and kill the entire race?"

"Humans have done a worse than any other race that I know of but they do good to. The war has stolen our most prized possession: the only real treasure we had."

The three of them exchanged looks. These creatures valued something even more than their own lives? What could be so precious? The creature went on to explain, "The monsters stole more than just material things. They stole our city's very soul!" The Elf's eyes filled with tears and he stopped for a moment to regain his composure. "They stole knowledge from the very heart of the city," his voice cracked and could no longer continue.

"They stole histories?" Asked Gregory as he thought of how some of his professors would react to the statement that the Negg Elves were making.

"Not just any histories. They stole the book that taught our ancestors how to make inks and paper in their purist forms." Images passed through the Negg Elf's head as he spoke. He saw pages and books full of images that were so detailed they seemed to move and breath. The words soared off the pages and into the very hearts of the citizens of the city. He was broken out of his thoughts by the men softly clearing their throats. "Then, the monsters used our incredible knowledge to create more scripts for their selfish game. They practically waste thousands of years of study. We would have shared the knowledge with them if they had asked. Then we would have used the knowledge for its true purpose while the monsters still made scripts and built up their game. All they had to do was ask but they didn't even do that. They just took!"

The Negg Elf let out a slow breath to calm himself. "Our children will never learn the traditions of our ancestors if our knowledge is not restored to us. I cannot let our children and children's children live in ignorance! So, our army attacks the war and the cities that it hides in. We will live forever and our race will continue to fight until the knowledge is returned to us. One day we will hold what is ours again." The words pored out of the stony mouth with a hiss of the seriousness and severity of his promise. Gregory was amazed at the determination in the leader's words and the emotion of his voice while men stood on the edge of something similar to shock.

Margaret nodded her head in understanding, looking down at the small child who was holding her hand so tenderly. Marcus also nodded though he had no idea why. The stone creature's words were confusing to him. He had never married or had children and those events can change a person's thinking greatly. Once any living creature becomes a parent, one thing rules their lives: children. Each generation wants the other to have things that they couldn't get and to learn from the previous generations' mistakes. To those parents knowledge of the past is useful because it helps their children. It can keep one generation from falling into the same traps the previous one did. The information could buy and save the lives of thousands. History and knowledge can really be valuable. Information can save a life and has as much value as the lives it saves.

Marcus pondered all this while the Negg Elves brought the three of them before their Queen. Every visitor to the city had to be presented to her – even if those visitors were only passing through. The Queen wanted to see everyone. The Negg Elves' community was small and secluded and the Queen wanted it to stay that way. She made everyone take a vow of silence and meet her trust-worthy standards. After what seemed like hours of walking through the village, the three of them stood in a circular room with dark green climbing up the almost-blue green walls onto a spiraling staircase. Gregory shifted in his boots and Margaret tried not to move. Marcus could feel the hidden eyes of someone else on him. The tap of a dainty foot sounded as a tall woman in blue stepped onto the stairs. The three travelers and the whole assembly saw the round-faced queen walking towards them.

"So these are the travelers from Bantor," she said to no one in particular. Gregory was about to speak but the queen began again before words could leave his mouth. "Your Bantor's finest citizens – some of the few who are actively trying to save lives and stop war," she said through clouded eyes. "Yet your travel will lead you to plain clothes and old leather. It looks suspicious even if you say that our enemies are one and the same." She stopped to let her words sink in. Now Gregory found his words anew and began to speak.

"Do you think it will really avoid country roads? I thought that the city would be safer – more people to help us if we need it…" Margaret did not agree with Greg's idea at first but she began to agree with him as he explained further:

"The monster is in disguise as a man. He wants to go into the city. If he was able to attack better in the country he wouldn't have bothered with the disguise."

Margaret couldn't argue with Gregory's logic but something was still bothering her: Why was the monster after the boy. If he wanted to simply eat the boy, he could have done it before either of the adults was able to stop him. Why had he only grabbed the child?

"It would be hard to travel through the woods in finery or surprise enemies in white armor with a gouty coat of arms."

The Queen smiled. "Yes, gray and leather does seem more appropriate for you. You are very resourceful for humans." Again the queen paused and began again. "Has the king sent you to me to make a battle pact or are you here on your own?"

The three humans stared at the queen in disbelief. Marcus's eyes drew to twice their normal size but not even his expressive features could not match the surprise that Margaret felt or the rate at which her eyes grew.

"We are not here for a pact at all!" Margaret began in an already breathless voice. She stammered at first, at a loss for words until Gregory finished for her.

"We both want to stop the war before it takes any more lives. The problem is that we are going about that in different ways. Margaret, Marcus, and I are trying to stop the war through example while you are trying to destroy all weapons and make war impossible. There is no way we could join forces because our methods are too different."

They nodded, signifying that she understood and sent the three of them back to the city where they had been found.

"We will fight to the death an in the end be successful because we know that we were right." Anthony had to stop, as he was choked emotion as he remembered his father. The old man had been dying when he said those words and he was in an amazing amount of pain but he quickly surged on through his speech. "Take this stone with you and rub it whenever you need us. We will hear the urgency of your thoughts and come to you." On that note his father had left Anthony in charge of the estate. He was alone then and so unsure of himself. He sat in the empty room, hoping that he knew where he was going. He did not know then what he did now: that he would always be alone.

Neither Margaret nor Gregory wanted to scare the boy; their concerns for him were exchanged with written words. Each of them agreed that it would be dangerous to just let the boy loose in the town and that they wanted – nay needed more information. "Do you have a home, child?" Asked Margaret. Marcus shook his head. "Then you should stay with me."

Margaret spoke to her father about the child. The Count was against letting Margaret keep a strange peasant in the house for no reason – he agreed to let the child stay if he earned his keep. Margaret could not defy her father but she made it as easy for Marcus as she could: all the servants knew not to hurt Marcus– a common punishment was for the cook to beat someone who had done wrong. Marcus's job was to follow Jacques, the candle boy on his work. The two boys seemed to like each other and quickly turned the job of lighting the candles into a game. Still, Marcus never forgot why he was really there.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Twenty-Four:**

**Margaret and Marcus in the Manor**

Marcus could not deny that he liked his life at the manor. Every one was nice to him but none of them ever would replace his father. What had happened to him – was it he who died in a puff of smoke and the monster who survived? He stopped all the morbid thoughts like a flicking of his wrist. Things were always bad and they were getting worse. No one in France could go back to a delusional fantasy. He had to write the Lord of Sands and tell him about his father! The two of them lived in his district. The more people in the district the more money the lord got. Surely he would care about the money and the scare it would cause? Peasants were expected to adapt to life without a thought. It was practically part of a farmer's job description.

Marcus would need help if he wanted to even have a hope of defeating a noble. He knew that he would have to think like a noble in order to stop a noble. This letter may look like a simple letter. It was not written with fancy lettering or on fine paper. It was a plain, short letter: sweet and simple…but it was worth more to Marcus (and maybe to the whole of Bantor) than a simple noble would guess – no matter how well they were educated.

_Good Noble Sir,_

_I am a simple peasant living in Beasai, a province under the just and compassionate rule of your hand. My family and I have lived there for generations. Unfortunately, we will not be able to live there much longer. My father has been taken in and forced to join with Don Anthony – the Spanish Don in Louis' Court. My family wants nothing but to live peacefully on your lands – fighting for our father is something we wish to do – but we know that it will be futile…_

_No peasants could defeat a great noble. Of course, we might have a chance if, in your mercy, my Lord would save our loving father._

_You are our only hope,_

Marcus Saphire

Marcus knew that the message was short but he thought that it said enough to let the Lord know he was truly needed. Hopefully, he would read the letter during tax time and see how low moral was. The Lord was more likely to answer yes to the letter then – when the nobility were at their weakest and felt that all help was good – even help from the peasants. Nobility seem to automatically distrust people – of course Marcus felt the same way… Some people have proven that trust is wasted on them. Anthony had shown that to Marcus and his father. Marcus thought that his father knew what he was doing but the truth was that no one was sure what was going through the aristocrats' head.

Marcus was relieved to learn that not all aristocrats were like the man his father once thought of as a friend. The people who ran the world had the power to do what ever they wanted and Marcus was glad to see that the people who ruled everything did have rules… Even they have to answer to God, he thought to himself, remembering the words his father had said.

That morning in Church seemed so long ago: Marcus was watching his father out of the corner of his eye. Marcus often did this: he wanted to know how grown-ups did things. Their whole world seemed like a mystery to him. Every time he wanted to help an adult would say that he was too young. Adults didn't want children to know about their complex rules until they were old enough to no longer be called children. Marcus decided years ago that it was his job to be the first kid to learn the adults' secrets. He watched all the adults he could and paid extra close attention to the adults who were conducting "business".

Church to Marcus seemed like one of those carts that gave away toys… Only instead of making people pay for something to get a free cart the gift was given to anyone just for coming in. Stained glass windows shone down and reflected bright blues and reds onto the opposite wall. The golden yellow of the sun made the colors look so vibrant that Marcus could hardly see the shapes within it. The building always seemed warm and welcoming.

The clergymen terrified him the first time he went into the church. The priests used to walk up to the pulpit with a stern look on their faces but once they took their places in front of the congregation their faces would suddenly morph into friendly smiles. Marcus was usually suspicious of these types of things: people suddenly changing in those drastic ways usually meant that one of those ways was a lie. A priest would have good reason to want their clergy to think that they were happy, good people.

Marcus had to use all the listening skills he possessed to find the information he needed. Every member of the congregation had thought that the men were good and most of them even had stories about the good deeds of the men. The factory worker, Mr. Jacques, was injured on the job. He had to quit his job because his arm could no longer handle the workload. One of the priests came to Jacques' house every day and gave him a portion of the tithes and even did some small chores for him. If the men did all that they did not need to fake being nice. He was glad that they were truly good. He had seen how little good existed in the world the summer before:

A crowd gathers as the workers, farmers, tradesmen, and everyone in their families all unite to point and laugh at the unfortunate group's expense. There were five people tied together tightly with thick rope. It seemed that someone wanted to make sure that they would not escape…Marcus shivered as he tried not to imagine himself in their place as a shout came from the throng of on-lookers shouting, "Pierre, look at this total drink! No one could look like that and not be a traitor." No one ever wants to be one of those unfortunate people… but that was part of the game: Any one could be next: No one wants to be laughed at and be known for their own naivety. Yes, they had helped placed themselves before the terrible crowd! The condemned group had the wrong friends – the kind of friends who could not save them. They certainly didn't seem to have any friends now!

Marcus usually tried to ovoid seeing the walk of the condemned – it was always so depressing and scary. Today's incident was no exception: he was just on his way inside when he caught a glimpse of the line of the tied people. The face was weathered and old but it also had a kind sparkle in the eyes – even though the man had to know that he was doomed. Marcus was surprised to see a face with such hope in it. Most people in the line and the other lines that had come through before had looked shocked or terrified. Marcus stayed where he was to see the face clearer but immediately regretted doing so. The second to last face was one that he recognized – it was one of the clergymen! The one who helped the poor worker?

The crowd threw this and that at them: Anything from rotten vegetables to bricks was fair game. Marcus squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to see anything hit a man who had been so kind to everyone. Why did anyone want to see him go like this? How could such a kind person be a threat to France – or anyone for that matter! Why were these people so intent on his death? There was no reason to hurt a man of god – any one could see that he would not hurt a fly! Markus's mind and heart screamed at him to help the old man but his feet and mouth refused to move – he was so afraid! Marcus stood still as stone until the strong hands of his father lifted him up and carried him back to the loft.

Marcus had not shed one tear on the street but once his feet were firmly placed on the hard floor of the loft the tears flowed like rain. Gasping sobs escaped his mouth as ever-growing tears streamed from his eyes. Carlos wrapped his arms around his son's small body and rubbed his back. Neither of them said a word until dawn when Markus's tears stopped and the clergyman was long dead…

Carlos knew from that moment on that his son needed to be protected. No child should have to watch as some one they knew was dragged to the gallows! Carlos knew that his son was an innocent – he had not lived long enough to deserve any of the hardships he did face: not being able to sleep in a real bed, always being hungry, and now seeing murders before his very eyes – these were not things a child should have to endure. It was Carlos's job to make sure that he didn't need to continue to go through the hardships. He would do anything to keep his son from knowing these horrors.

That's when all the bad things that had happened in Markus's short life started. Carlos started working with the crazy Don and the country of France became the setting of a new kind of war. The nation had seen war before but now brother-fought brother. Fathers gave up sons! It seemed like the world was going crazy and the desperation of the rest of the country leaked into Markus's life as his father's dependence on the Don intensified.

Both father and son immediately began to regret the father's decision to apply to the request for an able-bodied worker. The first assignment had been short and simple but the length of assignments quickly grew, as did their complexity. The kind of people he saw with the Don thrived on the misery and embarrassment of others. Carlos quickly learned this when he saw the "work" they did to the other nobles' homes. Some of the men started rebellions at the homes of propionate court-men. The cruel men employed by the Don would do everything they could to start a problem. Some of them even threatened the servants by saying that they would hurt them or their families if they did not do as they were told.

Don Anthony seemed to generally enjoy scaring people. He would order his men to scare them for him if he was too busy in court. Carlos thanked the Lord everyday for giving the Don other men who would do these cruel things – even after years of service, Carlos never had to threaten or hurt anyone. Carlos was grateful to the Don for both allowing him to provide for his son and for allowing him to work for him without hurting people. The Don made it seem like he thought that it was a privilege to be in his presence and after awhile the people who worked for him viewed it as an honor as well.

The man had a way of hypnotizing people into believing what ever he believed. He could make Carlos think that they were friends. He could make the other court members think that he was a harmless man who would do whatever he was told. Anthony could make the mob of France think that he was a humanitarian who would bring them power. Don Anthony could make anyone think he was what they wanted him to be.

Marcus saw the way the Don changed his mannerisms and moods with each party he visited. The nobles saw one side and the peasants saw another. No one knew the real man and no one saw the real intentions. Marcus knew that the Don should not be trusted because he changed so much. If he were serious about one side, he wouldn't trade sides with each conversation! The Don's goal was whatever goal everyone else had. It was like he couldn't think for himself – if a man with less power or less money had acted the same way, Marcus would have believed that they were simply spineless. Anthony, on the other hand acts with great confidence – he leads men into murders and commands throngs with a few well-spoken words. He knows what he is doing even if no one else does! The Don is changing sides for a reason…it is just that no one knows what that reason is.

**Chapter Twenty-Five:**

The Dark-eyes in the Dark

A dark-eyed man sat on top of his large bed that night. Sleep had eluded him fro several nights now. He had been expecting this. He was in his early twenties but a life of deception added age quickly. His lean, toned body and thin lips had been made up to make him look like a dignified noble. His eyes were the only body part that Francis told the servants to leave alone. Greg waited for his mind to quite and sleep to begin with a worried frown creasing his face. He had just said a load of lies that the nobles all wanted to hear about Spain and foreign relations. It was easier talking to Margaret – she just smiled when he started his usually political speech. In college, standing in the middle of the street and yelling that equal rights were needed and that Americans had the right idea was an accepted action. In court, the action was a death warrant – start out saying what they want to hear, advised Francis. He had been promised that once he rose in the ranks he could say his idealistic speeches to his hearts content. That time could not come too soon!

And what would happen once he did this? Would any of those nobles in court take him seriously? "I should have just gone in and told them what was going on in the streets of France – even Spain can see the turmoil!" he chided himself as he laughed at his own morbid joke. He wanted these people to know the truth – he was sure that if they did things would change. They would have to take him seriously once they saw how dire the situation was. It sounded so simple: setup a background and wait for the king to notice the great things going on and grant you a rank. Then the alliances would come pouring in! In truth, Gregory didn't really believe that any of the "friendships" he made in court were real – it really was all about politics. Facial expressions and body language said feelings more and words. The only person who he felt he could truly believe was the girl – Margaret.

She said the things she wanted to because she didn't have to worry about pleasing the court. She already had Louis' favor and a fortune to her name. There was no need to gain petty friendships and alliances. She could do what she wanted without worry. When she spoke it was evident that she meant and believed what she said. Her eyes sparkled and color rose in her cheeks. The corners of her mouth turned up as her chest rose up and down with greater speed. She never had to lie or live a double life but she also felt for those who did have a hard life. She had told him that she agreed with his ideas about equality with those clear eyes and her dark brows furrowed in seriousness. – No one could fake such sincerity!

No matter how well a person lied, the truth would be written on their life through the friendships they kept. Whenever Greg and Francis were corresponding through letters, Greg was unsure of the man's intentions. Once they met face-to-face Greg could see that the man was serious. Anyone can lie in a letter. The sway of an eyelid or the flush of a cheek cannot give a lie away in a letter. The only sure way to see the truth of the matter was to meet and see the other person's face – mainly their eyes! The eyes are the windows to the soul and to see the depth of a person's soul, one must see their eyes. How could he explain anything to Margaret in a letter or trust any letter she sent.

"I should seal it or send one of the gents as a messenger," he thought sadly. "I could have at least tracked out a location. Then I could arrange a meeting."

Scenes played in his mind over and over. What if one of the Spanish Dons suspected that he was not Spanish and got suspicious? What if they talked and have been intercepting Margaret's letters for months? What if by sending this one letter, he ended up giving up the location of all the "resistance"?

So many things could go wrong… There was so much room for uncertainty but also so much room for possibilities. So many things _could_ happen but what _would_ happen? Why was he suddenly questioning himself? Greg had been in the resistance to help peasants for years. He had done many more dangerous things than sending a letter to a noble.

"Breathe," he reminded himself… "I've been around stiff nobles for too long!"

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

**Margaret Fights the Shadow**

Margaret raced to her father's message slot. She hoped that a letter from the new Spanish nephew of the count had written her. They had been through so much together and now it seemed like a day without word could mean anything. He had said he would but she had learned that many men lie about such things. She told herself that she would not be cross with him if he had not written… Still she longed to read a letter and imagine each letter of each word forming as a syllable from his firm mouth.

None of the other men at court were like him. The whole of the court's champers seemed to shake when they laughed and mocked each other like ugly hyenas. Everyone likes to think that it was the very earth's way of fighting against them – that even inanimate objects could see that they were using it for evil. Of course logic told Margaret and her friends that it was only that the giant feet of the servants and men above them stomping. Some people seemed so happy to see someone else get hurt and those types of people seemed to thrive at court. Part of Margaret wanted to leave the madness of court and another part of her said that she could change the way the court acted: Should not a good equal a good? If laughter is contagious than shouldn't someone else's joy bring others joy?

Turning to look over her shoulder, Margaret saw two shadows hurrying to catch up with her. Most people – especially the type of people in court, would have been a little nervous by this. Margaret heard the squished of silk after her own dress' swirl – she was sure that the shadows belonged to her ladies in waiting. They had been visiting the countess' seamstresses with new orders for her father and the ladies of the house. She turned the corner that lead to the box and gasped: a tall man stood before her holding a knife. She opened her mouth to call for help but was unable to as the man quickly dove at her. His hand covered her mouth and squeezed at her cheeks. She tried to kick at her capture but found that she could not even do that. Her dress was wrapped around her legs and made quick movement nearly impossible.

She was terrified and helpless. Nothing could be done to stop this man – she could barely move to stop him. Nor could she call for help. The man covered her mouth and quickly covered her eyes as another man quickly bound her hands. She silently prayed that the shadows really did belong to her ladies – or that they were close and had seen or suspected something… They were her only hope.

After a long and mysterious journey on carriage and horseback, Margaret and her two captures made it to their destination. Margaret was surprised when the men _gently _removed her bonds and gag. She could finally see her captures: one was short – she stood taller than him in her healed shoes; the other had dark, dark hair. It seemed that the evil in these men jumped out of them before the graciousness that must also seemed to reside in them had a chance to have a glimpse of the outside world. Emboldened by their kindness and the halt of the carriage that allowed her heart to slow down and stopped the panic that surged through her being.

Margaret took three deep, cleansing breaths before she was able to ask, "Where are we?"

The man with dark hair looked at her with fiery eyes. "You are not here to ask questions! Now sit and be quiet! You should be thankful to us – if you had stayed your fate would be much worse." The dark-heard man said all this to Margaret while the short man never turned around to face her. She stretched her neck to try to get a better look. The dark man saw her looking and quickly stepped to the side to block her view. She could tell from his frown that any other attempts would be hopeless. She hated to not know what was happening. If it was better for her hear that they had to be up to something there! What schemes could they be planning in Louis' court?

Thoughts of her father whirled through her head. Would they end up killing him? Everyone in court? Images of her father: Walking by the river as a child… and her friends: Laughing with her ladies in waiting at the court… Images of the count's Spanish nephew ran in her head and stayed there. His smiling face and sparkling eyes looked straight at her. He was frozen in her minds' eye but full of warmth even with the frozen exterior. His eyes were one of the things that separated him from the other nobles – they had feeling and compassion in them. He tightened his face to make himself look hard but the truth was in his eyes. He had a heart and she believed that he let it rule over his mind and the greed for money. She knew that greed was behind this attempt on her life as well. Everything leads back to greed…

How can I be thinking of him when all these other things are happening around me? She knew the answer as soon as her mind had asked the question: Because she hoped that it was he who saved her. She wanted him to hold her in his arms and protect her. This is a natural thing, she told herself. There were only a few people her age in court and he was one of them. He was foreign and had an aura of mystery around himself and attracted many young courtesans. It was nothing she insisted to herself even as the warmth of passion filled her.

A rough push forced her back into the reality of the situation. The shorter captor was apparently trying to tell her to move. Margaret shakily got to her feet. It was hard for her to balance with her hands still bound behind her back. She started to stumble but the man's grip on her arm instantly stopped her from falling. "The walk will help get the blood flowing in your limbs again," he said to her with a strange look in his eyes. Margaret met him look for look.

"Why am I here?"

"Don't worry… Our plan is not meant for you. We only destroy the wicked."

"Who are you going to destroy in the court? Are they all wicked?"

"Soon, we will know."

Margaret allowed the man to lead her to another small shack-like structure in the middle of the field where the other man stood. He saw the two of them and smiled an empty smile. These men claimed to be trying to help her and all of France but them also admitted to wanting to hurt the other members of the court. These men seems very confused like they were not sure what the next step would be, still they seemed very sure of themselves at the same time. It was obvious that these men were unstable… real question was what were they truly capable of doing.

"I am not sure the king even knows of your existence," a figure in black told Don Anthony once he had felt compelled to speak. The Don smiled a smile twice as sinister and vile as the monster's evil grin, knowing that the figure's words were true. He waved his hand and said, "Take this sad excuse for an informant away." Three armed men with Invader insignias on their jargons appeared from around the corner that the tight chains prevented the doomed man from seeing. The men pulled the man in question to his feet and placed a black sack over his head.

The stone-faced captain and his Invader warriors forced the man in black into the heart of the trouble. He was now trapped in a small but deep pool. It would only be a matter of moments before he drowned. Anthony smiled to himself from his high-domed office. The parting had been a sad one for him. The man had almost been useful but the trust was that the man was a coward who would not hesitate to turn the rest of them in if things came down to such.

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: **

**Trackers**

Francis and Gregory knew that they had to get back to their mission for all loyal Bantorians. Even though these missions were for the good of the country, they had to be conducted in secret and the woods behind Francis's' manor was the safest place the two of them could think of. The woods were like home now because he was in them so much. The Elfin city seemed weird and strange but the woods could almost be a village in Bantor. That tall pine could be the butcher's shop and the spruce in the back could be farmer Gibbon's place. It felt good for the men to be back in their element! The heroes could lay back and breathe easy. The two men knew where they were, where they were going and what they were doing again. It seemed like ages sense they had so much certainty. The county was at war but Greg had just started to relax when Francis's told them some bad news.

"We started this ceratodus a short time ago with the element of surprise," Francis stated with a serious frown on his face. "This weapon was one of the few we had and now, it is gone." He let out a sigh of irritation before continuing with the second part of his plan. "We all need to be more careful and keep all the advantages we can. Our country and king are depending on us to steal the plans for the king's treasure before the slime Invaders use the treasure against our whole country. In order to do this, we must hide and strike politically unseen like ambushes. We shall travel at night using the darkness as a cloak to seem invisible."

No one could really argue because no one knew of a more logical plan. Francis was a veteran of many battles and knew what he was saying because politics and warfare often collided. He knew firsthand how great of an advantage surprise could be in warfare. Greg tried to rest in a cornfield near to the Don's manor before sneaking in at night but sleep seemed to drift just out of their reach. Many of the servants Gregory had brought with him had been in the Don's prison and did not sleep at all during the time they were in the jail. Even though each of them was exhausted, sleep seemed to elude everyone. The wheels of their minds turned endlessly, making sleep impossible. Although each of the men in the field had a hard time sleeping, no one had a harder time than Gregory.

The youth in silk napes landed with a soft thud on the ground as his mind replayed the game over and over again. Gregory drifted in and out of that sleep-like state in between exhaustion and comas where he dreamed of the game and of scripts. The verse written on the script would appear in his head and he would feel amazed and delighted but then, it would ignite in red flames. A voice in Greg's mind told him it was just a script but his very heart would cry out in anguish when the voice even whispered this saddening thought. The heart knows the truth in all things and the pumping mussel could not be quiet because it knew that the scripts were something more than mere pieces of paper. The words had guided him as he felt them pull at him even now as he tried to sleep. How could something so powerful be just a script? It was like magic with a power stronger than what was merely looked at in the face.

The Negg Elf had said that the scripts were a silly waste of the knowledge the humans had acquired. The army leader made it sound like the scripts were nothing but a waste of the inks and papers but Gregory knew that the scripts held valuable knowledge that came from the True King himself. Still, Greg did not know what the true purpose of the knowledge or the scripts really was. Everything concerning the scripts seemed to be surrounded in mystery. The uncertainty of even the simplest things seemed to be magnified during this journey. Gregory was certain about nothing in life but it seemed like this was the first time any of the confusing things mattered to him. What tutors and royalty had taught him had little value or use in the wilderness. Gregory's mind reeled at the uncertainty his life the lives of every one in Bantor now possessed. Still, he smiled when he remembered the certainty he felt while he was reading the scripts. It was the only time he had no doubt. Even when the tutors drilled an idea into Gregory's head the idea never felt certain. Certainty gave Greg a feeling beyond comfort and there was no other feeling like it. The scripts had a drive to them because the words were certain and Greg was anxious to feel that drive again. He smiled, just remembering it all but then something _happened_.

Gregory was forced away from memory lane by the sound of a stick braking. He got up and crept towards the noise. He had to go deep into the cornfield before he could see the source of the noise. Two cloaked figures were following them.

"What have you gotten?" Asked the first one in a black cloak.

"Nothing new yet here but the Don lost them because of the Law." The cloaked figure's face was covered but and no emotion showed in the void where the face should be. "I heard that it was not him that lost it but a simple servant like us. The master's not too happy about that." The figure's emotions came through in the pinched aggression that came through in his voice.

"Then you better have good news for him," retorted the first quickly.

"They're far from the treasure. We've got time," answered the second.

"Make sure you do. You know what happens if you don't," hissed the figure in a sly voice.

"I just need some more information." With the Second's last remark the two parted. The First went towards the city the men had just escaped. The Second headed back towards the men's camp. Gregory followed after and mauled him from behind. Then, after memorizing every minuet detail, ran to tell the sleeping servants in the field all that he had heard and seen.

"There are two spies following us," he panted.

"I knew the Don would send someone but I didn't know it would be so soon," said one man named Samuel with worry in his brown eyes. "You should not have gone out alone young master! The Don could have taken you and then what would we tell Master Francis?

"We aren't sure the Don is the one who sent them. Bantor is a great kingdom with many enemies who want to destroy it. Many people from Court come to the Don's home and anyone of them could have been the master of these servants" Samuel turned to Gregory and asked, "How long have they been following us? Do we have time to get in before we are noticed?"

"I'm not sure. They acted like they just fond out about some fairly recent events," Greg said thinking about how they had mentioned the game.

"Give your best guess… You must have suspected something before you went out to look." The man's face looked panicked but his voice remained calm. He just wanted to hear that the spies had not been follow sense the first day of their journey. He just wanted to know that Bantor did have the advantage and that these spies were not his own countrymen.

"What did they look like?" Finished Samuel steadily.

Samuel, who seemed to be the oldest servant, led Gregory away from the group and asked quietly, "Were they human or creature?"

"I think they were human." Greg paused for a moment, trying to remember every picture in its own frame. Had he seen even a glimpse of pale skin or a patch of fur? "They wore long black cloaks. I think saw hands and arms but I couldn't see their feet or faces… They were not over six feet tall and I don't think that they were Invaders." Again Gregory paused trying to remember the lessons the tutors had given him on monsters from distant lands. "The spies could be Negglesses or Monitors or Sheomats… there is no telling what those spies are. They could really be anything."

Samuel looked at Gregory as they both let out long sighs. "This isn't good," said Samuel with slow measure in a voice that spoke so quietly that he himself could hardly hear it. These cloaked spies had to be more then spies… Gregory felt dread rise from the pit of his gut to the top of his throat. These were not spies or soldiers. They were Trackers and Trackers were not normal scouting parties. Trackers were like assassins who were hired not to kill. Assassins would kill a man and be done with the thing quickly and almost humanly. Trackers made the thing keep going. There never seemed to be an end. A Tracker could disappear into the night without leaving a trace of evidence or just make a simple potion to cause a man to sleep for a whole month. The target would be a lot less trouble to capture and move then. Such things very rarely happened of course. With Trackers, it was usually worse than a mere potion.

Samuel remembered his first encounter with the Trackers. It was years ago when Bantor was helping the small village of Amnus get read of some troublemakers. The conflict ended up being more complicated than any of the soldiers could have known. The troublemakers were really princes across the sea. They had runaway from home to enjoy themselves with thievery. If the boys were caught they would have revealed their identities and gotten off with little more than a lecture. Their marvelous plan seemed foolproof but they forgot about one important thing: their father's anger. Their father must have been very mad with them to send Trackers instead of palace guards after them. Trackers were merciless because they had no ruler. The guards would have treated the boys kindly knowing that one day the oldest would be king. Trackers had no such scruples. The boys made it home to their father welcoming his punishment. Even the punishment of an angry father was more merciful and just than the punishment of the trackers. It was sad really for such a thing to happen to young boys. Neither of them was sane enough to be king now! No one really knows what the Trackers did to them and the unknown end seemed even more terrifying than the countless stories Samuel had heard about the Trackers' tactics. He shivered just thinking about it… No one could bare such a thing alone.

Luckily, the group had each other and Samuel tried to sooth away the men's fear with that thought. The Tracker could not get them all at once. They would look out for one another and attack as a team. Every man was hand chosen by the king. Taking responsibility for a team member's life was nothing new to them. Battle called for such responsibilities several times and every the men on the team had been battle tested. Each member could all be trusted. Francis knew that everyone on the quest had to know about the Trackers but he regretted telling them about it just the same. Each one of these men was his friend. Even noblemen like Francis had become close companions to the peasants.

Sure, some people had been acting a little suspicious but Gregory and the others knew that the king trusted each of them and that they could trust each other. There must be good in every man. Still, many great men throughout history have had both bad and good in them. Everyman must also have both just as King Arthur and Hercules did. For this reason, Gregory would watch each of the servants closely. No one knew what type of horrible thing would come out.

That night the group moved with greater speed than they had planned on before. Everyone was in a hurry. The fact that Trackers were among them gave a new energy and urgency to the group. The party walked from the cornfield they had rested at to a small valley in front of a deep forest they would enter the next night. The hills rose and fell with the gentle gale that blew through the corn. The thoughts of the men seemed to be taking the same road as well. Tensions seemed to be at an ever-ascending cascade of the feeling.

Suspicions became a vast mixture of anger and fear that could be manipulated only by the Trackers and those in their making. Trackers were said to have an alley at every turn but an enemy behind everyone…Gregory knew that he could not take too many chances and had two people stand watch at the corners from that first door on. Gregory was about to choose two men for the right corner's watch when a man named John volunteered. The words he uttered were the closest he had come to a conversation sense his capture. The other men spoke for John of the horrors they had seen him endure. They had wanted to include John so Gregory agreed to let him stand watch. It didn't take long for the others to go into the room where Francis's' sources claimed the information would be.

Once inside, the men saw that finding the needed information would be harder than they had originally thought. Papers were strewn about everywhere and stacks of books covered every available surface. The only small detail that separated this room from the struggle of a crime scene was the lack of turned chairs. It would be next to impossible to find anything because nothing was organized in any way. How could any studying be going on here? Nothing could get done in a room like that.

Gregory was glad to know that he had placed men to guard the corners. There would be plenty of time to escape if someone showed up and the odds of having someone show were higher than Greg had planned – this mess would take longer than normal to look through. After hours of looking through a mesh of papers and torn pages, one of the servants found a stone box etched with gold and silver on the trims. This had to be it. Gregory was about to open it when the warning call sounded from the second corner. The group left for the cornfield and back to the manor before the night was over.

The next morning was warm and quiet in the manor. The bugs softly buzzed a lullaby as the crickets chirped in the early light. Gregory was quickly asleep all morning and into the afternoon. He snored softly next to Samuel when a heavy hand fell on Greg's shoulder. Greg jumped awake at the touch to find his mentor standing next to him. "You and I need to talk about what happened last night," Francis said. "The box does not contain what I had imagined. There is a stone but I do not believe it is the stone that we are looking for. I have never seen the monster's treasure though. I assume it is as valuable as Bantor's treasure. Just answer all of my questions and maybe we can find out what this really is." The light of confidence met in Francis's' eyes. He knew what he had to do and to be so close to his goal both freighted and invigorated him. His mouth seemed to move quicker than his words would allow as he asked, "Do you know why we want the treasure?"

"The king wants us to get it as a warning to all the Invaders and the rebels so that they know to leave the rule of the cities to the nobles." Gregory was still tired but didn't have the will or patience to describe the patriotic pull he did not fully understand. He had remembered only a few weeks ago, before he came to court, when he would have dropped everything if the king asked them to make this mission for him. Gregory would have been willing to risk his live for the people of Bantor. He was a patriot then. Now, he was on the quest for a totally different reason: He still wanted to help people but it was more than that now. Francis was a good man and he was doing this mission to help him and Marcus. He was risking his life for his family and for the woman he thought he loved.

"How does anyone even know about the stone?" Asked Gregory with frustration in his voice.

"He must have informants everywhere – especially in the court and in the major cities to rile the populace."

"Did the papers in the office mention anything about informants or the Stone's legion? The servants said that you were in the office a long time."

"I read more than I needed to and found that you have not been completely honest with me. This situation is becoming more complicated," retorted Greg rather indignantly.

"What do you think that you found out?" Asked Francis with the guard he felt in his voice.

"I know that you were working with the scripts yourself before the Don got a hold of them. I know that Marcus's father worked for you before he worked for Don Anthony." Gregory would have continued with the list of things that he had learned in the office if Francis had not left the room.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Twenty-Eight:**

**Still Suitors**

Margaret awoke and looked at her handmaid, Iris groggily. "I shouldn't have been sleeping. I am supposed to be ready to leave at a moment's notice." She sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "The courtesan will be upset when he sees that I wasn't alert."

Iris saw the worry in her mistress' eyes and quickly said, "I won't tell him you fell asleep. He should come to call on you soon."

Margaret smiled for an instant and then looked into Iris' blue eyes for comfort. "Do you really believe that he will come or are you just saying that he will to please me?" She asked with suspicion in her voice.

"I would have told you if I thought that he was not good for you. Really I don't know much about the count's nephew but I do know you. I know that you do not jump into things quickly. If you think that he is worth the worry, than I believe that he is too."

Margaret shook his head in confusion and smiled. "When did I get friends as good as you? I hope that I can live up to your trust." Margaret considered telling her friend about all the adventures she had been no but she decided against it. Iris would never believe her anyway and it would be more fun as a secret. She wasn't about to give away the secret.

**Chapter Twenty-Nine:**

**Marcus**

Marcus liked working in the mansion. The people there were nice to him but he missed his father. He hoped that the noble man would answer his letter and help him. The servants had told him not to wait on the nobles. They were born lazy and needed peasants who did work, to help them. Marcus couldn't argue with the older and more knowledgeable servants but he hoped and prayed that they were wrong. He couldn't save his father on his own! So, he waited for the noble to answer his letter.

After the weeks and weeks that seemed to last forever to the young boy, he knew that he could no longer rely on the noble's compassion or his support. His only option was to go find his father himself and bring him to a doctor. The master of Marcus's new house was kind and sensible. He would never turn away a needy soul who stood before him – even the old servants who cleaned the master's coats agreed with him on this. The master would have to take Carlos in and get him to doctor. Marcus just had to find his father and bring him to the manor.

Marcus walked the familiar path. That was where Carlos had turned into a monster in the woods. That is where Don Anthony lives…. The list of familiar place grew more and more intendment as Marcus neared his home. That was where the baker who used to give him cookies at half price lived. That is where the scary grandmother lives with her daughter and her five grandchildren. Memories flew back to him with each block and Marcus became surer and surer that he needed to have his real father back.

He had come to the loft that he and his father shared. Would Carlos be there? Was he out running errands for Anthony? Marcus hated to have traveled all this way for nothing (he even asked one of the other servants to cover for him) without accomplishing anything but he also hoped that the monster was not there. If that meant that nothing was there than so be it.

Marcus knew that the longer he waited to confront the thing that had stolen his father's body the more terrifying it would be. He ran up the stairs to their loft and flung the door open, not realizing that he had closed his eyes. He had walked this way so many times that he had never really paid attention to the actual steps that he had taken. His father used to joke that he could have walked from Anthony's to the flat in his sleep… Braine had traveled about half that with his eyes closed. The idea of confronting the monster terrified him that much but he was already standing in an open doorway. It could be coming at him right now. He forced his eyes open!

The flat was coved in clothes and blankets. Someone had broken into his mother hope chest and ripped out all of its' contents. His mother's blue wedding gown hung over the rocking chair (the only chair with a back in the entire flat). The quilt she had helped her mother sew was ripped in half. The red and yellow cloth of the baby clothes was strewn everywhere in the small space. Marcus was shocked to see the destruction of memories as if the vandals had destroyed more than just physical things.

Marcus didn't remember anything about his mother – she had died shortly after giving birth to him. His father had told him many stories about her: how she loved him and cared about her family. His father had gone through the hope chest every night to lull Marcus to sleep. He had heard each items' story enough times to repeat them word for word – just as many times as he had walked into the loft. The hope chest, even though it had belonged to someone he never met, seemed like a part of his life and it hurt him to see it scattered so!

Marcus took a deep breath and stepped into the room looking to the left and to the right. He could not see his father in the front room. Maybe he was in the bedroom… Marcus turned the corner and walked in. The bedroom was even more wrecked than the front room:

The mattress was no longer on the bed and the sheets and pillows were torn to shreds. The left window was broken and the oil lamb that used to hang over the bedpost rolled in the middle of the wheatear's field. The red glow of the sun shined against the glass pains of the oil lamb as the soft wind made it spin in the street. Marcus felt his stomach fall to the floor. His father was gone and he was truly alone.

**Chapter Thirty:**

**The Don's Power**

Don Anthony smiled as a mob of people formed in the streets. He was not sure why they were there but it did not matter to him. He wanted to watch France crumble and hoped the world's powers would soon follow. When chaos ensued the person who could do things was the person who ruled because no one cared about nobilities or families when the world was coming to an end! There would no longer be any "god-chosen" rulers. The common people would condemn and kill their rulers believing that God had abandoned them – just like they had in the days of old. The Roman Emperors knew that a mob was something to fear… The ruling families and monarchs today did not.

The Atech leaders and chieftains literally watched their blood flow into a large basin to show the people how devoted they were to the gods – they knew the importance of the mob and that to survive as a ruler they must be appeased. Commoners knew that the king was strong because they saw both his physical and mental strength everyday at sunrise when he would but himself and offer the gods his own blood. Kings were not chosen because of whom their fathers were… Their strength was their own.

That was the fair way to do things: idiots can be born into a noble or royal family. Louis was an idiot as far as Anthony was concerned. The two of them could not be compared. Louis was against war and conquest…how was the country to grow? He was weak and afraid of war and death. Anthony could see that the country needed a strong king: one that was not afraid of becoming the ruler of more than a country. Anthony could be that king. The commoners did not even know that he existed but they would learn of him and his strength very soon. As soon as they saw the symbol of his power, ambition, and devotion they would be begging him to rule over them. He would be the first truly strong ruler that France had seen but oh…he would not stop with France.

Soon, the world would be at his mercy! With the world's leaders following codes and ethics, a powerful could take over in the blink of an eye. If some of the "leaders" that thought they had control tried to stop him, it would be simple and easy to just send an army in – everyone seemed to fear war (that's because their soldiers do not fear them) Anthony knew. The mob had to be thought to submit to a ruler – rulers had to show strength and them no mob would want to topple them. Fear would keep the bad monsters at bay and keep the good ones near him.

The crowd that was out there in the street now had no idea that Anthony existed. He was simply another noble man. He could leave for Spain and they would not care – he had done nothing to them! Every member of the Mob thought without consulting his or her head – it was all in the heart. Everyone was emotional and they did things without thinking…The mass of people only had one goal and none of them could tell an on-looker what that goal was:

Some would say that they were working for freedom or justice. Others would say for revenge or for fairness. All these things were feelings with meaningless definitions! Anthony knew that this senseless mass would do what ever he asked if they believed that it could get them closer to their goal and because they had no real definition of their goal… He could get them closer!

The madman's thoughts continued on in such a manner as he watched the mob burn mansions and throw sticks. Policemen came to stop the ruckus but everyone could see that it would take more than that to stop the mass epic of disaster that was to come. Static, rock, and flame all erupted from the mass with an electricity that would have scared even Anthony had he not been behind the oldest and most powerful demon that ever existed in the thousand millennia of the Atechs. He chuckled happily from his secure place by his creation and rubbed his hands knowing that triumph was on the way.

**Chapter Thirty-One:**

**The Streets and the Windows**

Three tall men stood in the doorway of an abandoned stable in the middle of the county. The stable was so old that the wood had turned gray and brittle long ago and was not to be destroyed – anyone who saw it would know that it would destroy itself soon enough.

"Must we meet in this drab place? It always dampens my spirits to see a place of progress and invention so deteriorated," whined the man dressed in blue silk who stood to the right.

"We have no choice but to meet in an isolated area like this… They are all as drab and sad as this," answered the man on the left.

"As sad as this is, seeing my own home burn or feeling the flames lick my skin as the world burns around me seems much more sad," pointed out the man with white hair as the rest of them shuddered.

"Do not speak of such things," ordered the man in blue. "Do you know how likely they are to be true? Do you wish the devil on us?"

"Do not be over-dramatic," the middleman reminded the other two. "We are here on business and we must get to work." The group of men moved into the house and was socked at what they saw:

The stable that was once full of the hay that hid the trap door where the gold and gems of the three households lay. Of course, the three nobles watched this area carefully and had faithful men hiding in the woods to watch for thieves. The greatest fear of the men was simply that these guards had betrayed them. _Our own servants have turned us into victims, _thought the man in blue angrily as he ran forward in front of the other two men. He was the youngest, the fastest, and the most spontaneous of the three. He was too young to know that hurrying would not stop what was happening nor would it keep the worse from happening.

The nobles saw that they were not alone but it was not who they expected – the three guards – there in the supposedly abandoned stable. It was two young men dressed in peasants' clothes and a younger woman in a disheveled dress. This was not what he had expected to see. He did not know what this was about but he did know that the other men needed a warning:

"Things are worse than I thought," admitted the man in blue as he yelled back to the other two nobles.

The other two men looked at each other in confusion. "What exactly is different?"

The nobleman in blue opened his mouth to answer but the other two men who had traveled with him made it over to the other side of the stable. One of the two peasants pulled the young woman by the arm. She followed him but seemed reluctant to do so.

"There's nowhere to go," declared the noble in blue. "Now tell me, what is this about?"

"Why are you here?" asked the tall man in peasants' clothing.

"We own this land through the King's grace," argued the noble in green silk.

The two men smiled and nodded as if they were reassuring a pouting child. The noblemen were about to object and show the men the paper the king himself had signed but they never got their chance. The two men pulled the girl back with them and flew out of sight in seconds.

"What was that?" Exclaimed the man in blue as his voice shook.

"Who cares what it was… Thank the heavens it is gone."

"Do you think that those men were part of the mob?"

"Maybe they were magicians from the New World. You know those crazy savages hate the nobles," one of the nobles had been "in charge" of one of the expeditions to the New World. He had, as was proper, simply paid an adventurer to go on the ship for him and record the finds. He had paid the man well, he hoped that the money and fame would convince the adventurer not to sail away with the gold they were sure to find in the New World – if fame and money would not do it than the threat of death and hanging the theft of the king's gold brought surely would.

The younger man had just recently left the university. He prided himself in his rational and logical thought process of minuet details. He thought himself a kind of detective – he would never lower himself by actually becoming one but he often thought of using his crime-solving skills as a hobby. It was those skills that allowed him to be aware of one thing: "Where did the girl come from? She dressed like a noble and seemed to be afraid…"

"You think that she is the Duke's daughter… The one the king's men were looking for?"

"Who else could she be?"

"That girl could be anyone! A silk dress does not make her a nobleman's daughter. You presume too much," warned the middleman who never seemed to move.

"Silk is still as costly as it was last year. Peasants cannot afford it."

"Peasants can steal it though! You have seen the smoke and the fires. Surely three is some looting as well."

"Half the commoners are starving and more interested in food than in clothes. The other half are too afraid about being mistaken for nobles to grab a silken gown," argued the man in blue. "That dress was so dirty… If it was stolen the woman could not hope to sell it. She has to be a real noble."

"Many nobles are missing after all the raids. She is still not necessarily the Duke's girl."

"Who cares whose daughter she is as long as she is a noble? The king will reward us anyway."

"Now you are sounding like a common peasant, looking for a quick get rich scheme." The nobles smiled at their teasing. If they were in the court of Louis, the teasing would be an unforgivable offense. Still, out here, in the middle of the country, far from the violence, it seemed as if the Court and the rules of the Gentlemen were centuries of miles away. None of that seemed to matter… That is, nothing except the reward that was to come.

"Look, we'll go to the King's men and tell them where the girl is. When they ask how we knew, we will casually explain that we were hiding from the mob in the stable."

"What about the money and the jewels?" Fear and suspicion crept into the man in blue's voice as he said this, looking down at the hay on the ground. If the King's men came, they would need more than hay to hide their crimes and protect the money.

"We can get that into the carriage. If the King's men see it we can explain that we did not want it to be stolen. They will understand our fears," said the man in green to reassure his two comrades. "Besides, the reward of the King's favor is more valuable than even the gold we have here."

The other two nodded in agreement and it was decided: They would ride back to the burning city and win the king's favor with their tale.

"That's true. I need to watch Anthony. This was years before I even had a clue as to what he was doing. At first, Carlos was like every other peasant – he would do almost anything for money… He was desperate because he could not feed his family. He was a good worker though. Carlos met me in that Inn every week with more clues and tips but all that stopped after the death of his wife. Anthony became his savior when she passed. Carlos practically forgot all the information he had worked so hard to get for all those months."

"Weren't you suspicious that something had happened? People don't just join forces with their greatest enemy because their wife dies. Usually they blame the death on the enemy!" Gregory stopped speaking even though he had much more to ask his mentor. Servants were starting to get up and this should remain between them and not the whole home.

He needed to ask Samuel more about this before Francis sent him on another mission. This man had also been in the secret service as a double agent of sorts for years. If anyone knew what broke Carlos, he would. This was his last chance. Still if the Francis knew that he was snooping, he night gets thrown off the mission himself. Francis had become like a father to him in recent months but he could not forget the nights when he would be sent to an infested city in the middle of no where to find that no information or advice would be given. It was all merely a test!

Gregory shook Samuel gently putting a finger to his lip. The man understood and followed him silently into an adjoining room. He quickly told him about the brush and fight in the woods and about the papers he had found. "I know that the master would never do anything cruel to the informants to push them away," insisted Samuel.

"Whenever I started working with Francis, I was a student in college. He would often tell me to meet him and then never show. After I waited for several hours, he would appear and say that he had been watching. He'd say that the whole thing was just a test."

"You were taking information from him so that you could win people to the cause. He wanted to make sure that you were not using it for other things. Informants give information. He needs to be friendly with us or we will take our information else where."

"Maybe you're right. With Trackers and things following us, and mad monsters on our tail, I'm starting to get suspicious of everyone. Anthony has always been a great public speaker. He could have won over a single man with the same techniques."

The two men went into the dinning hall with the rest of the group. Francis was there too of course. He looked more tired than the men who went into the cornfield did. It seemed like the count had been so worried that he could not sleep. When the men returned he was still busy making preparations and getting information.

"Did anything happen here while we were away?" Greg asked his old mentor.

"Nothing happened when I was here but I fell asleep for part of it."

"I didn't mean here as in inside of the manor exactly." Greg waved his hand vaguely and continued. "I was just thinking about the other eyes and ears you have."

"Yes, I have many eyes and ears but so does everyone else. I finish this discussion; we must be someplace quieter and more private. First, let us eat and then we will discuss all of these things."

A grand meal was laid before them: steak and ham from the farthest regions of Bantor, noodles and salad grown on the farms in Francis's countdom. The men ate hungrily of everything. Francis seemed to be troubled still. Gregory noticed that he was not eating as much as usual.

"Now that we are done dinning here, let us go some place more private." Francis led them all the rarely used side door behind a picture of Francis's great grandmother. The door opened to a winding stairway and down they went. Gregory started counting the stairs but after over forty, the numbers seemed to only make him depressed. After hours of walking, another door appeared, this door opened into the side of a thick forest where it met the cliffs that sheltered Francis's manor and immediately got down to discussing.

"We need to go back in… I need more information to determine if the box we have does indeed house the Stone."

"What if you didn't have the chance? These people are hiring Trackers. They could have easily killed all of us! We do not even know if Anthony's library houses the information we need." Samuel said all of this very quickly. His face grew pale in the light and Gregory feared that the old servant would faint.

"Anything could happen," said Greg, trying to use rational to calm Samuel and help his mentor. "Luckily, nothing did happen and we are all alive and well. All we need to do is get more information. I agree that we should not risk our lives needlessly. Before we go back into Anthony's home, we need to find out how many books are written about the Stone and where they are located. Nothing in our mission has been ruined but Bantor is still in danger. We need to hurry and go! Every second spent arguing is a second wasted."

The party followed Greg's advice and walked towards the door. The forest was thick and close. Still, it held a familiar terrain for the men. Even Gregory was glad to be out of the shallow cornfields and exposed open valleys. The mood of everyone seemed to be brighter and no one wanted to go back into the stairway. Luckily Francis knew of another way up. All the men walked deeper into the forest, looking for the river that would house a boat that Francis owned. The boat would take them back up to the manor and they could all stay in the open air. The plan was to divide and conquer. Men would go to different sections and Dukes in Bantor and see if they had any information. They would pose as servants and sneak into the libraries. Gregory was confident in the plan until he noticed that not a sound could be heard in the dense forest: no birds singing, not wind rustling the leaves. Only the shuffled footsteps of the men could be heard. Then, it occurred to Gregory:

"Listen!" He yelled to the men behind him. They all stopped and squinted their eyes as if trying to see something far away rather than trying to hear a faint sound.

"I don't hear anything," admitted Francis in a confused voice. The other men nodded in agreement with their master.

"That's the point," Gregory explained and motioned to the trees with his silk covered arms. "We are in the middle of the woods. We should hear all the animals running, birds chirping and insects buzzing. I see the branches move with the wind but I cannot hear the branches rustle. I can't hear a sound – not even a crumbling leaf or snapping twig."

"You're right. Something strange is going on here."— No one could speak to agree with Samuel and Greg as an odd smell filled the air with a delicious aroma. It was a citrus smell with a sweet and fruity mix accompanied by the tang of something unknown. Francis opened his mouth to speak. His lips moved to comment on the odor but no sound could be heard. Before anyone could move an inch or even bat an eye each of the men fell to the ground in a faint with a soft thud into the muddy grass beneath them. Surprisingly, Greg remained on his feet. Whatever had affected the other men had not bothered him.

Gregory was still in shock as he stared in confusion as his head swam. He too had smelled the citrus and walked through the woods but did not faint or even feel dizzy. He kneeled down closer to his companions. They were motionless on the ground where they had landed so suddenly. Gregory checked for pulses on all of them and was relieved to come to the conclusion that the men were only sleeping but he wanted to make sure that they were not in truth seriously hurt. He assumed that the citrus smell was the reason for the sudden collapse but there were many other factors at play. He had to rule out all the other possibilities before jumping to conclusions and blaming the phenomenon on the citrus. Greg could not see any blood but that didn't mean they weren't wounded badly. He inspected each limp and organ to make sure that nothing inside of the men was hurt or bruised. As he did this, a rustle came from the trees.

Whispers came from a dark bush on the corner of the path. The whispers were quiet – so quiet that a normal human ear would not have even heard the muted voices but Greg's ears were used to snooping and could pick up every word clearly.

"They're ALL supposed to be out," said the first voice with a deep grumble.

"It must have not been powerful enough. You forgot to check the dose," said the second voice lamely. "We can always just kill the thing without having to deal with the annoyance of these little things."

"Laws are not little things!" The deep voice whispered angrily. "Besides," the voice began in a new tone, "it might be more fun to play with the young noble first."

A cloaked figure stepped out into the forest where Gregory stood. The figure was tall with broad shoulders under a cloak that was blacker than the new moon. For a minute, they both stared at each other. It was obvious the shadowed thing was not aware that Gregory had heard the conversation earlier as its head crooked to one side. Greg's eyes nearly dove into the middle of the empty blackness of the shroud. Gregory could feel the cloaked figure staring at him and weighing him in a test but he struggled to find the eyes of his adversary. Wise women say that eyes lead down into the very soul and Gregory knew that even if this figure did have eyes, he would never have a soul. The thing in this cloak was capable of anything. Gregory waited and waited for anything to happen. He half expected to fall to the ground like the men but still he waited. After what felt like an eternity to Gregory, the figure finally spoke:

"Do not worry about your friends. They will wake up in a day or two."

"Who are you? Whom do you work for?" Gregory asked with more courage than he felt.

The figure laughed in loud billows that shook not only his massive shoulders but also the whole forest. The laugh was full of glee but that happiness seemed to be a shield and cover for the worse type of mocking. "You do not know?" He asked whipping away a joyous tear of happiness as the blackness of the cloak began to seep into the woods and beyond. "Why, I am the Tracker."

The dark figure said it simply and acted as if his profession was his identity or that the concept of a name was foreign to him. Gregory shuddered as he came to the realization that the Tracker didn't ask who he was because he all ready knew. The mysterious shadow figure knew everything about Francis and the men who were working for him. He knew more than Greg even expected to know himself. "I hear you beat the monster…a commendable victory. Your strategy must be complex to win so early on." The figure's teeth showed through the darkness of the black hood but it quickly vanished as he yelled, "Don't get cocky, boy. Your wins were luck and never count on luck twice. You won't win again when you play against me. The next city will show you no mercy."

Finally, Gregory spoke: "You almost sound like you care about us. Why would you do that?"

"You and the old man are my job. If I let you die, my money is gone. For some reason, the boss wants you back alive."

A light came to Greg's eyes. The treasured stone had to be in that box – or at least something equally important! Why else would the Tracker reveal himself and his objective? Gregory itched as he continued to feel the pull of the city as a near presence.

"I should thank your master for the sentiment and care," Gregory said cautiously, wanting to ask thousands of questions but not knowing where to begin.

"Come with me," demanded another Tracker from out of nowhere. Gregory unsheathed his sword with startling accuracy. The young student looked like an experienced fighter with strength not to be reckoned with in battle. Unfortunately, the image the quick move drew was far from the truth. Though Greg drew the rusty blade quickly he was not in a hurry to use it. The only time he had actually fought using the blade was in the palace courtyard and that was only against trained teachers. Most nobles only carried a blade as a symbol. He knew nothing of battle and was unsure if he wanted to become acquainted with it but Greg had little choice. A world of uncertainty was closing in around Gregory and nothing seemed sure but there was one thing he knew for certain: He wasn't going anywhere.

The second tracker drew his sword and walked towards Gregory. He had a determined look in his eyes. Greg looked right back. Their swords were about to meet when the other Tracker moved his sword to intersect his comrade's blade. They each pointed a sword at the other threatening to strike but neither daring to do so. For a while both Trackers argued with each other until finally the first one said, "Don't do anything rash. We need them alive." The first Tracker seemed to be the leader and his words seemed to have more weight. The second figure sheathed his sword and both Trackers began walking closer to him. Gregory backed up deeper into the woods but he knew that soon he would have nowhere to go. Greg stopped moving at a brush patch where he could see the men, knowing that he could not leave them with the Trackers. There was no telling what their enemies would do with the Bantorian men once they had them.

Trackers had their own set of rules. Nothing would be off-limits for them as long as the job was not sacrificed. The rules that Trackers lived by were not strict or harsh but no tracker could go against the rules without forfeiting his life and work. "It's the boy and me," demanded the second Tracker in a deep voice as he silently challenged the first Tracker with his eyes. The first Tracker nodded and the decks were brought into the woods. The Tracker chose first and grabbed the one on the right. When the tray was brought to Gregory he refused to pick up a deck. "I don't know what you are planning but I'm not playing your game," he said with more boldness than he felt. Why would the Tracker just want to play? Was he following some kind of ancient tradition or a code or a distraction? There must be some trick to what he was planning…

"Than you will have to be knocked out while we carry your friends away," said the first Tracker with the hint of a malicious smile in hid voice. He seemed to genuinely enjoy the torment of others. Gregory felt defeated as his heart sank and simply chose the same deck on the right, hoping that the True King would guide him again. A new battle had begun and Greg prayed that more than luck was on his side because he knew he would need it.

Chapter Thirty-Two: The Right

Both of them drew five scripts with the flick of their wrists. It was Gregory's turn to go first. He looked through the scripts to read the words. It was hard to force his eyes not to focus but he tried with all his might. His eyes were naturally sharper than most peoples' because he spent so many hours reading so it took more time for Greg's eyes to focus than it would have taken any other man. He could sense that the Trackers were getting impatient waiting for him to make a move but Gregory continued to unfocused his eyes because knew he had been able to accomplish the task before when he had played against Carlos. Finally after what seemed like hours, Gregory was ready to read the scripts and begin his own turn in the game.

The first Beast Script had a picture of a blue sphere surrounded by a swirling red back round. A small silhouette of a lion sat in the bottom left corner. It said:

_The True King loves his people_

_He gives them the gifts _

_They need to Live forever._

It was a strong script and it had 2000 points. The next three scripts were Will Scripts. All together the three of them added up to 1000 points. One script had 500 points and a picture of a pure white unicorn jumping over the red sun. The next had 300 points and a picture of a winding staircase that traveled up into the darkness of the ceiling. The last script had 200 points with a picture of the sun shining through an icy glacier.

Gregory didn't want to use all of his Will Scripts on the first round with such a powerful Beast Script. Especially when he knew he would need all of those Will Scripts later. Still, he needed to win two rounds to get the game and wanted a sure win. So, to make the game more even and hopefully take the Tracker by surprise, Gregory added the 500 point Will Script to the 2000-point Beast Script.

The Tracker put down three of his scripts quickly. His demure gave away nothing but perfect calm while sweat ran down Gregory's fur and made his ears itch. They both flipped their scripts over in a fast motion as if in a race. Gregory sighed with relief as he spied the Tracker's scripts. He had won the game: 2500 points to 1500 points. The Tracker looked at Gregory in shock as the piece on the Labyrinth Board moved one hundred spaces towards the center. Then, his eyes got hard as he and Gregory drew the next scripts.

The cloaked face barely turned towards the scripts in his gloved hand. The Tracker just stared at Gregory. The cold blackness of his shadow never moved from Greg's face. The Tracker's fingers on the other hand were in continuous motion. The fingers attached to the dark man's hand were as thick as fat sausages but their size did not stop them from drumming on the table in rhythm. The fingers seemed steady and skilled even though they were large. With a quick, fat hand the tracker placed two scripts in the Labyrinth with a sly grin.

Gregory drew his script and looked at the most beautiful picture he had ever seen. The center of the magnificent script had a golden city floating in the sky drawn with startling detail. Gregory could make out each subtle crack and every burning candle in the windows of lingering image. The flames were highlighted by the darkening sky but this sky was not the traditional picture of a cloudless blue background or a full moon glowing in the purple of the night. It was as dark a blue as midnight with galaxies and worlds turning and dancing within. Gregory could not even dream of being that far into space but he imagined that the deepest debts of space would be as glorious as that… The words hidden in this Beast Script must be full of hope, thought Gregory. He strained his eyes and looked:

_The True King gave his Son _

_To save His people from evil._

These words told Gregory that this was the script he needed without even looking at the points. Still, not all the answers to the questions in Gregory's head were given in the short verse. Who was the he the verse spoke of? Gregory pushed all the thoughts and questions from his mind and put all of his scripts down. Both the fake nobleman and the Tracker flipped their scripts to reveal the points. The Tracker's scripts had a high number of points. Gregory felt his stomach tighten with fear as he did the quick math in his head. The tracker had 3500 points! Greg looked down at his own scripts and was relieved as he smiled and looked down. He saw that his scripts added up to 4300 points. This battle was over and Gregory had won.

**Chapter Thirty-Three:**

**Margaret fits into the Plan**

Margaret was as surprised – if not more so – as the men who watched her disappear with the commoners. The whole stable was dark but an abrupt flash of sunlight broke it. She was both alarmed and hopeful at this change of events. The light could be the coming doom that her captures continued to speak of or it could be the coming of rescuers.

She silently prayed that the light was a type of repentance for the nobles and herself – for France in general – and not a sign of judgment. For Bantor had done many things wrong – as had all countries in Europe, because everyone made mistakes but that was no excuse! Everyone did things wrong and everyone needed forgiveness. That was why everyone should accept apology and give forgiveness: If no gives forgiveness than no one will receive forgiveness.

Margaret knew these truths from Sunday School but she also knew that logic and human nature coincided with this rule: If one person did not forgive another, other human beings view the first man as not being worthy of forgiveness. Only a person with a humble heart can truly give (and therefore truly receive) forgiveness. Humans would not want to forgive a man who would not forgive others just as they would not feed a man who did not share his food with beggars in their hour of need. The only way to convince the world that someone was worthy of forgiveness was to give someone else forgiveness: it proves that the giver of forgiveness has mercy and compassion – two valuable and sought after allies, even in the courts of kings! Kings want people who show that they are wise to rule by their side but not someone who will be tempted to take the crown – they need someone they can trust and who shows that they deserve trust! The trusted advisers and friends need to show that they are humble and compassionate (why else would Nebuchadnezzar have chosen Daniel to be an adviser and wise man).

She wanted to have the same honesty and purpose, as he did to not only know what was right but also to act on it. People like that seemed to never be afraid. Right now, Margaret was always afraid – when she was with her father, she knew that no one would dare to challenge a Duke whether the attacker was a noble or a peasant but here she did not even have her father's name as a shield. She was alone and defenseless in this remote barn in the middle of nowhere with two men who despised all nobles.

The only glimmer of hope in this dark world was that the men had chosen to save her from the fate that the nobles had in store for them. Why did they grant her this honor? What made her special enough to have the only "get out of punishment" pass? These men did not care about what Louis found charming and what he liked best. They were not looking to get Louis' favor through her. What were they looking for? Margaret knew that she needed more than a glance of the glimmer of the hope that she had. Soon she would have to find the answer to all their riddled secrets…As soon as she found why their chose to save her, she would learn what they were going to do to her father. Her heart drove her to keep pressing these men.

They did not seem mean only confused. She did not fear them…only the ideas they took in form the man they followed. They spoke of the man often and quoted his smooth, vague rhythms every time she asked a question. He seemed to have given them an answer that would not give away any real intent to any question. The way they described the man made her think of him as a dictative ruler who thought of himself as a god. Of course, what else would she think of the man who was holding her captive and threatening to kill everyone she knew?

The man wanted to be a murderer! How could he be anything but a monster? The two men who were holding her did not understand that the nobles did not see what was happening and that there were good people trying to help the commoners – all these men knew was that their families were hungry and that there seemed to be no way out. How could they know anything but this when they have never been to court or even knew of all the men who made it?

"You told me that your plan was not really about killing but about showing nobles that commoners can be noble," Margaret's voice roes at the last syllable as if her statement were a question. The tall captor sensed this and nodded at her words.

"Would your act not show more nobility if you were to do it before the eyes of the court? Show them your nobility before whipping them out?"

"That act may seem nobler but it will be nearly impossible to accomplish. It is amazing that mere peasants have gotten this far, No?"

She sighed, knowing that she would never have the chance to get them to see the truth: they did not have to do this! In fact, their act would hurt their cause more than helping it… Even with their strange idea of showing nobility, the plan made no since at all. How would killing hundreds of people show nobility?

Questions with no answers rushed through her head as the men lead her to a door where she could see light. Days of near darkness allowed her to make out the long tunnel she was traveling down in the small light from the cracked door. The tunnel echoed as the drip-drip of water sounded from the back of the cramped barn. Yet, another sound perpetrated the noise: voices. She recognized one of them from court – _Could it be the governor of Ashe? _Why would he, or any noble for that matter, be out in the middle of the woods?

The next few moments seemed to flash in incoherency to Margaret as the men opened the door and light flooded the passageway. She remembered being pulled towards the wall by the two men who had captured her. She hoped that the other nobles would understand what their strange riddles were all about. The men talked with each other for a very short time – Margaret was pulled into the darkness before the men had even said a formal greeting!

A loud crash came from where the men still lay. Gregory ran to the forest glade with his sword drawn but all he found in the valley were the men. He turned to the right just to make sure no one was behind him. All he found in that place behind the men was darkness and night. Twigs snapped and leaves crunched to the right and left. Gregory turned quickly and tried to focus on his senses as he relied on them to tell him where the potential attacker came from. Even with his accelerated senses, Gregory could not be sure as to the location of the sounds' origin. He went into a small panic and tried to run. He did not get far before… a sharp pain hit the side of his head and he gave into blackness.

…

Francis was the first to awaken feeling dizzy and confused. He looked around and was surprised to find that he did not recognize the terrine. This was the exact opposite setting of where the group had fainted in the middle of the forest. There were no trees around and all the men were out of the woods. The tall trees at the edge of the forest stood far off on the end of the horizon. Francis panicked for a short moment as he came to the realization that he and all the Bantorian men had been moved. He looked at the silhouettes of Gregory and the other servants' sleeping lying next to him in their leather clothes. The Trackers must be strong indeed.

"How was this done? Why would they go to so much trouble?" Francis murmured as the others began to stir from their unnatural sleep. Gregory turned to Francis with a foggy look identical to that of every other living thing in the valley from the woods. He turned to them and said in what would have been a clear voice if the drug had not affected the men's hearing, "Someone moved us."

"Maybe the movers came to help us. The Don has a lot of enemies you know. It could have been the Negg Elves again or something else likes them," said Samuel.

"If they wanted to help us they would have spoken to us instead of leaving us in the valley," Francis stated with a worried look on his wrinkled face.

"We should go back. They're probably trying to hide something," said Gregory with a determined look on his face as he explained the events of the past two days to the men.

"We can't go back into the woods. They must be trying to trick us into a trap. They wouldn't have just left us here at the edge if it wasn't!" Samuel almost screamed.

Even with Samuel's heart-felt speech and sincere concern the other men agreed with Gregory. The group went back into the forest, not knowing what awaited them in the debts of the city and the shadows of the dark.

**Chapter Thirty-Four:**

**The Monster's Allies**

The party moved sluggishly from the open field to the deep forest as they fought with the effects of the citrus drug. They were not fully awake until night fell with the waning moon. After forty-eight hours of sleeping, none of them really felt tired in the least so they kept walking through the dense woods. Greg looked up and saw the bright moon through the branches.

He instantly remembered the Trackers' promise: They would both meet him again on the full moon. That time was coming closer and closer and the shadowed figures would want the answers to any of his questions. Gregory looked back ahead and saw Francis right behind Samuel. He walked up and dramatically turned to Francis. Hoping that the scene would attract the attention of the other party members and gain more leverage on Francis and may cause the truth to come tumbling out of the nobleman under the pressure and stares. Greg did not like using a crowd to get information out of people but this affected them all so they should all take part in it.

"We almost died back there. Those Trackers could have easily stuck all of us with knives. You have known the king for a long time and have fought for him more times than the rest of us combined. You would die and rest in peace and pride knowing what you died for. The rest of us would not be able to find that peace. We would not know what we fought and died for. "

"Is it not an honor to die for your country, protecting your families?" Asked Francis as he gave Gregory a suspicious look and stopped his trek following Samuel. The others had stopped walking and gathered around where John and Francis stood in a circle.

"I don't even know why the king sent us here. I do not want to die believing I failed my country when, in fact, she is safe at the moment. If they are busy chasing us they cannot be busy causing trouble anywhere else," Gregory countered. "I do not want my last thoughts on this Earth to be about my family being in captivity and suffering with my countrymen!"

The other men began to nod as Francis sighed and tried to answer the complicated question. "We are here to get the Invader's treasured stone."

"Why does the kingdom need another stone? How do we know that we do not already have it?" Gregory asked feeling hope surge through him. One question often led to another and if Francis answered one so readily Greg was sure the answers would continue to pure from his lips.

"The Invader's treasure is not just another stone."—Before Francis could explain farther, voices were heard underneath the group. They searched frantically for the city but it could not be found before the smell of citrus came to the air. The men all recognized the scent and could only think of one thing: getting away. Gregory jumped up and ran deeper into the forest. The rest followed him through the trees. They had nearly fallen into a second trap but the men only became more determined. The traps only made them more certain that this was the city they needed to search in order to get the stone.

As the forest got thicker and the heat began to rise, the group began to think about what had happened in the short time they had been on their mission. They had all been sent on a quest from the king to steal the enemy's most prized possession. The mission would be complete soon if they only looted this city. This had to be the one they were after. At least two traps protected the city. What else could be so precious to the creatures that so much would be done to protect it?

"Can you sense the city or a boat?" Francis asked Gregory.

"The boat is close. We should reach it in less than a day of travel."

"Will we reach it before sunrise?" Asked Samuel anxiously.

"If we hurry we can be there in dawn's light."

The party traveled on with light spirits believing it would all be over in less than a day! "…In dawn's light." The words echoed in their heads with each step. Even Francis seemed excited to be free of the weight and responsibility of the mission. The group trudged on in the darkness of night, waiting for the time of action.

Dawn lit the east horizon with pink light. The men came to a deep creek. They bent down to drink when shadow caught Gregory's eye. It was the boat; he knew it at that second. He was about to tell the men but he was interrupted by voices coming from it.

Samuel knew immediately that they were the trackers. They spoke in hushed voices with Carlos.

"Did you do as I commanded?" Asked the monster in an almost pleading voice.

"Yes, mighty god. The humans will not find the treasure trove's real entrance," answered a tracker.

With a breath of relief, Carlos's voice said, "Our allies remain hidden."

The conversation ended as warriors walked nearer to the small shadow of an archway. The party hid. They ran behind bushes and trees and held their breath, doing their best not to make a sound. Luckily, the enemy army never came to the men. Without a pause their footsteps were heard retreating.

The group's only choice was to go through the arch and down into the tunnel. They walked as silently as they could. Gregory peeked over the corner but saw neither Carlos nor the tracker. He had Samuel move in front of him. If the enemy saw Samuel first, he could pretend to be another servant bringing refreshments to the men. Yet, no one was in sight and luck was finally on Bantor's side. Samuel motioned for the others to follow him inside. They walked deeper into the tunnel until they came to a small alcove.

The room was bare. The floor was nothing but packed dirt. The ceiling was only eight feet tall but the walls were unique. As I said, they were rounded with nothing on three sides. The fourth side had a crudely drawn map. It had a small purple "X" on a mounded hill with another "X" only a few inches away. This X was blue. About a foot away stood a large red "X" next to a tree. Francis thought that the large one must be the location of the Invader's treasured stone. He motioned the others to take a look. Gregory made a rough sketch of the map and the group headed back towards the exit.

A surprise was waiting for them when they arrived at the entrance of the tunnel. The monster and an army of rough looking men were right in front of the exit. The monster knew he could not let these men survive. They had all seen the map so all of them must die and that included the young nobleman (oh, how he hated that boy) with them. Gregory had won his freedom once but he would not do so again. The monster was convinced that the win was a simple stroke of beginner's luck. The first time was mere luck and luck does not save twice! They wanted to fight but the Law forbade them from attacking a winning player before a trial of sorts could be issued. That was a simple matter: just capture the boy and place him in the dungeons where he could await trial. No Law would be broken and the men would be dead. The Monster had almost had the men in the city before the Elves showed up and now the men would have no chance. The Elves would not save them this time!

Samuel was the first to get over his shock and draw his sword. He went into the wall of rough men with his sword flying. He had fought armies before but he had forgotten how strong and long the fighting lasted. The first swing from the enemy's rod nearly knocked the sword from his hand. Knives came at Samuel from all directions. Gregory jumped in to the battle and sprinted to Samuel. They stood back-to-back and hacked ruthlessly at the enemies all around them. Shrieks came from the back of the room as dirty men moved to create a path. Francis turned at their screams and took one look at what was approaching and realized one thing: they could never win.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Thirty-Five:**

**Captive Truth**

The giant creature ran towards the men with his ball and chain swinging over his head. The creature seemed to grow as he ran at him. It wasn't long until the creature had to be twelve feet tall. Luckily the tunnel was small and the creature had to dip his head. Thick black cloth covered Carlos' skin and blended into the darkness perfectly. Unfortunately, Greg could only make out two things: the black eyes and the long snout. Gregory dived behind the creature and tried to stab him cleanly through the head but was shocked to see that the creature now whore armor! Francis stood directly in front of the strange creature and aimed his sword directly at the creature's dipped chin at angle so that the sword would go through the mouth for a killing blow. The creature's wiry arms reached out and easily knocked the sword from Francis's hands. He stood in front of the monstrous creature defenseless. The other men jumped into action. They all ran at the monster with swords pointed out. That is…all the men except Gregory. He stared straight ahead like he longed to move but could not. Samuel wanted nothing more than to run but he just stood in shock. He had seen this creature before.

Years ago, before the Great War, Samuel was a young private on his first mission. He was afraid and nervous. Knowing that all young privates were nervous during their first battle, the commander had placed Samuel and the other privates in the last wave. The veterans of the battle were in front so that the new soldiers could see how the battle was to be preformed and come in prepared next time. Yet, the creature that immerged from the woods was too much for even the veterans to handle. Samuel shuddered at the memory. The creature had nearly killed them all…until the commander stabbed it in the back. He gripped the sword in his shaking hand. He knew that he needed to calm down but there was no time. Samuel took a deep breath and his heartbeat seemed to slow. His hand was still enough to go in for the last strike. He dove behind the creature and pushed the blade in. The creature roared and fell to the ground. Samuel savored this small victory but then realized the battle had just begun.

It seemed hopeless: scores of enemy warriors fighting against ten men. The enemy not only outnumbered the small party, they had more weapons and strength. The men seemed to be more than human because they were taller and stronger than any of the men from Bantor but that didn't stop Samuel and Gregory from stabbing anything that came near them. The two men and their comrades hacked at knives and ducked away from chains and clubs. All the men were just trying to survive. Then, an idea came to Francis with the sound of metal on rock.

The map in the alcove said that an "X" was on the right of the mound. What the "X" led to, no one knew but what other choice did they have? Only death waited back there. Francis ran to the right and the others followed. The ten-man army had to fight their way to the right wall. It was not easy. They swung and hacked and groaned. Yet, when they got there, the men were not satisfied with a seeming victory. They were terrified because they knew that another onslaught was on its way.

The wall was blank. There was no door, no secret code, and no hint. The wall was nothing but packed dirt. Gregory and Samuel continued to hold off the Monster's army while the others felt and hit the wall. There had to be a trap door. There had to be something.

"Look!" Shouted another one of the servants pointing to the corner of the wall where a small tunnel stood behind a pillar. The tunnel was well hidden. If you looked at it from any angle other than straight on, you would think it was just the pillar's shadow. The men ran into the darkness with Gregory fallowing behind them. The group ran and ran so long that John thought they would be trapped in the dark forever. Hopelessness hit Samuel with full force until he literally found light at the end of the tunnel. Gregory and all the men are safe. Now we look back to the monster and his army:

No amount of words could describe the violence and horror that ensued in this battle. All anyone needs to know is that in the end, the men of Bantor made it out alive on the end of a miracle. Yet, they were not alone. A lone survivor came with them. He needed medical treatment and the men did all they could for him. He was not a bad prisoner. The man never tried to escape but would never answer questions either. Not even simple ones like his name. It was like the man knew that he would not be with them and he planned on taking his secrets with him when he left.

He did not even live through the night…

**Chapter Thirty-Six:**

The Battle from the Monster's view

"Charge!" Carlos's voice yelled over the clamor. All of the enemies ran towards the men of Bantor. This is it, thought the monster, we have them. The army ran forward in a serge only to find that the men were not anywhere in sight. The army looked this way and that but could find nothing. Then they came: all the men emerged from crevasses and clefts. The surprise attack had changed. The enemy army was now on the defensive. The enemy army fell before the monster as he looked through Carlos's eyes in a rush of furry. Carlos's legs ran towards the men of Bantor's leader, the Count. Even through rage the monster had a respect for this man. He was a warrior and a swordsman. Yet, he would die. Carlos's body turned in for the finishing blow but as he did his right side was fatally open. Francis's sword cut through the air and hit Carlos's side. As the blade cut flesh Carlos's body fell and Francis pulled back in shock…

"Ohhhh," Carlos moaned as he opened his eyes, now his mind was his own for the first time. He still lay where he had fallen: right in the middle of the battlefield. Memories of the battle came flooding back to him.

With a shout to the small Calvary, the monster ran after the men of Bantor. This mission was too uncertain to leave to foot soldiers and slaves. This situation called for the stealthy riders. The stealthy snakes were fast and caught up to the men without a problem. The men could go left but the men could also go right. The monster needed to make sure they went where he wanted them. No matter what, they couldn't go right.

Carlos ran into the north, although his wounds were great, seeking the men. Surprisingly, when he came to a fork in the road, someone else he didn't expect stood waiting for him.

"Didn't expect to run into me, God of Chaos? You are an old friend and it has been too long. Why it seems only yesterday that you left me thinking that you could take Bantor's men by yourself." The Tracker stepped out from behind a bush and smiled mischievously at the god.

"What do you want, Scum?"

"Isn't it obvious? I want to play a game of scripts with you. If I win I get to take control of your slave army. If you win I will lead you to the Batorian men… That is what you were planning to do isn't it?" The Tracker smiled as he spoke and laughed at jokes that not even the monster could hear.

"You think you can stop me from achieving my goal, Tracker?"

"I know I can. Those wounds will make it easy. I don't even have to fight. All I have to do is wait for the blood to pour out of you."

Carlos charged at the Tracker. He ran at the tracker as forcefully as he could but a punch in the stomach stopped him. Carlos's longs breathed hard as the tracker smiled his malice smile. The monster knew that he would have to go along with the tracker. He hated to admit it but at his present state of injury, the tracker was stronger than a god.

"Are we going to have the trial or what?"

The game begun:

The tracker and the monster both looked down at the scripts. Then, they looked up at one another. "Pick," said Carlos's voice as his lips curved with a smile. The tracker had seen Carlos duel on many occasions. He knew the monster's moves. He would choose the Lance Deck in the middle. Of course, the tracker chose this deck. The god of Chaos would not have the advantage or be playing with his favorite deck. That would surly give the tracker an edge that he needed more than he would admit.

The monster inside of Carlos saw what the tracker had done. "If that weasel thinks he can beat me that easily, he has another thing coming," the monster thought in frustration. "I'll use his own plan against him!"

The god used Carlos's hand to grab the deck on the left quickly and both sides drew. The monster's five were weak but the tracker's puzzled looked proved that he was not fairing well ether. The tracker put down three scripts and watched the monster make his move.

"I know what you are playing: Helena the witch Beast Script with Troy and Oma Will Scripts. It won't work," the monster said with a sneer. Sure enough, the tracker had played the scripts Carlos had named. He turned his scripts over to revile a golden haired woman in a blue dress, a floating city surrounded by monsters, and a scroll with music written on it in orange letters. The tracker's face went white.

"How can I play against a man who knows all of my moves? I forfeit!" Cried the Tracker as he started to run. Carlos knew that the man had gone back on his word and silently made a promised to kill him.

**Chapter Thirty-Seven:**

The Green X

Now, in the Bantorians' camp a fire flickers in the moon light as Samuel and the other servants made camp. It has been a hard day and they are ready to rest. They all gather around the fire to decide who takes which watch. Little did they know someone is already watching them. Two men sit out of the ring to watch the Bantorians talk.

"Is that a nobleman?" asks one Watcher in a squeaky voice.

"It looks like it," answered another. "Jabwel will not be happy to hear this." With that, the two young Watchers left and went south.

Francis walked around the camp slowly. Something seemed to click in his brain. He had been here before. Had it been a previous battle? That must be it why else would this place seem so familiar? Footsteps ran towards Francis, breaking his thoughts. "Invaders have been spotted coming from the north," stammered Samuel.

"Sharpen your swords and get ready for battle," Francis replied immediately. He turned his back and got ready to sharpen his own sword when Samuel interrupted him again.

"That's the problem. A servant named John is missing." All the men gaped at each other. Invaders were on their way and John was missing! Of all the times to get separated! The men broke into four search parties and went out in each direction. Gregory and Francis went south.

Gregory's Tale:

When Gregory had heard that John was missing summersaults twirled in the pit of his stomach. Who would just walk away from camp like that? The men had barely survived the battle and the dangers of the wilderness seemed more real now than they ever had been before. John had been strange from the beginning but he was never that stupid. Gregory had not known the men long but he knew that they were all experienced war veterans. Wandering off without telling anyone didn't seem like something a veteran would do. Veterans would know the dangers with even more severity a man who had not been through war.

"Something is behind us," whispered Francis. Gregory stopped walking and listened. He heard soft but obvious steps. Each step landed with a thud, like the owner was tired. Francis and Gregory instinctively drew their swords and turned around quickly to startle the perpetrator. Four Invaders stood behind them with weapons already drawn and at the ready. Francis rushed forward but the Invaders quickly overcame him and just knocked his weapons out of his hands. It all happened so quickly and was so surprising! Gregory rushed forward but the Invaders only laughed. It did not take them long to knock the weapons out of his hands. Gregory and Francis both were shocked when the Invaders, like the monster, mentioned that they have to followed the Law and instantly brought trays of decks forth out of nothing.

"We are more than mere mortals and we uphold the Law as the gods do. The decks were drawn when Civilization began and so they are drawn now," said an older Invader with white hair ceremoniously raising his hands. Another Invader reached a gloved hand down for the still unconscious Francis but Gregory got to his mentor first and stood protectively over him.

"The rules need to change for this game. More lives are at stake. If more things are taken if I loose more rewards should be given if I win. If I win, both Francis and I go free," Gregory demanded, praying that the Invaders would not see through his bluff.

The Invaders huddled together and whispered for what seemed like an unnecessarily long time to Gregory. Finally they came to a conclusion:

"The stakes need to be even higher for such an agreement. If you loose, both you and the old man die. If you win then you both live. The game will only be even then." Gregory only nodded.

So it began:

Gregory reached for the deck on the right while his adversary, an Invader wearing a fur coat with a black stripe running down his arms, grabbed the deck on the left. The decks were shuffled and the game was ready to truly begin but neither player moved to start. The two stared at each other for what seemed like hours the people around them were getting restless but never moved nor spoke. No one lifted a finger until Francis coughed and broke the hanging silence. At that exact moment both Gregory and his adversary jumped to draw out five scripts as fast as they could, as if just realizing that time had pasted in the beginning. The reach for scripts almost became a race for the finish although neither one of them really knew where the finishing line truly was. The enemies' minion went through his scripts first:

He looked at his scripts with a blank face, expressing no emotion and laid down three scripts. The Invader turned to Gregory and stared at him with a mocking smile on his face and said in a clear, audible voice, "Your turn."

Gregory looked at his scripts and saw three Beast Scripts and two Will Scripts. What luck! Gregory looked at the scripts with joy. One had 30,000 points and a picture of a unicorn behind the men in gold armor that held a broken sword. The one with a dark, starless sky and shining ground had 50,000 points. The last had 28,000 points and a falcon carrying a blank flag in its' mouth flying over the sea. The two Will Scripts also had high numbers. They all had pictures of flames. The first was red with 500 points. The other was yellow and had 800 points to be added. The most powerful was green with 1200 points.

Gregory chose the Beast Script with the unicorn and the men and 30,000 points. His hand was half way between the Labyrinth and the rest of his deck. His hand stopped there because the colorful image of the unicorn caught his eye. The unicorn's head shifted from side to side in an annoyed motion as if it was upset that the men was in front of it. The unicorn didn't like to be ignored but what could it do with a golden the men in front of it? Gregory felt sorry for the poor creature.

Francis stood behind Gregory and saw the moving picture in the script and whispered to Gregory, "Does that normally happen?"

"No. I have never seen this before." Gregory's eyes scrunched as he thought hard. He seemed to be considering his words hard as he finally came to a conclusion. "The unicorn is jealous," answered Gregory slowly. Francis looked at Gregory with pity in his eyes and spoke to Gregory in a slow voice as if not to upset him.

"The scripts aren't alive. So, why is this one moving?"

Gregory knew that Francis was right. There had to be reason that this script could feel an emotion like jealousy and move. It was then that he remembered the verses. The answer must be written in them. All answers seemed to be found there. Gregory made his eyes go out of focus. Letters appeared in flowing but slanted handwriting.

_Trust and Hope are the _

_Only things strong enough to_

_Support the whole building_

Gregory thought about this verse. It was comforting but it did not explain why the unicorn moved. So, Greg read on. The answer had to be in the next verse. It would make the other verse make sense. He grasped the script with the black night and prayed he would know what to do.

_Be strong and wait for Hope._

He heaved a sigh of frustration. The duel needed to continue but he needed to know which script to put down. "Be watchful"? Maybe it was encouraging him to read the third script. He took the last one in his hand slowly and looked at the eagle's flag before he let his eyes go out of focus.

_All who have Hope _

_In a world full of troubles_

_Are worthy of happiness._

Gregory looked down at the scripts and read their verses. They all spoke of hope and faith. Greg looked over at his sly-faced opponent and felt his confidence move to new lows. Yet, at the same time, his determination went up. He prayed for courage and faith and played the men and unicorn with 30,000 points.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Thirty-Eight:**

**Extra Battles**

Gregory almost felt sad as he placed his moving unicorn script on the field. It was the last move and both players knew of the importance. Both players flipped their scripts over. Gasps erupted from the pair as they stared down at their scripts. The scripts had the same number of points. Both looked at the other. Neither was willing to admit that they did not know what to do. After several seconds of unsettling silence, both men reached for their decks. The two were about to draw again when the pictures on the scripts came to life!

The old noble jumped unto the unicorn's back and charged at the snake-like creature that had immerged out of the Invader's script. The two original players just stood amazed and watched the battle. Who would have expected the scripts to do this? The snake's strike moved as quickly as it was deadly. Luckily, the unicorn was quick and slick. The horse and rider narrowly missed the deadly strike each of the three times.

The Invader's snake was not the only script attacking. While the horse lunged and jumped, the rider used his sword to smite the creature. The sword never broke the snake's skin. It was covered in rough armor but the men were smart. He poked the creature's eye as it shrieked.

Thanks to the scripts, Gregory had won that round. Or so he thought. "You cursed the scripts! They have never acted so life-like even when Carlos himself plays!" Yelled the enemy Invader pointing at Gregory. "The only way the scripts could have moved and attacked like that was if you changed them. You cheated but that won't help you win this time. No matter what you draw it can't beat this script. Nothing can stop us!" He placed his script on the labyrinth with one forceful movement of his arm to emphasize his strength.

The enemy's script came up first, reviling the monstrous tiger within. Gregory looked at his own script. Nothing was coming from it. Could the script not have a monster or warrior within? The enemy began to laugh but was cut off when a blinding rainbow of light soared through the labyrinth. Both men closed their eyes. When they opened them again, only one script remained, Gregory's. The True King had helped Gregory again. He just wished he knew who the man helping him was. No teacher in any of Bantor's schools had taught him that. No matter what happened, in the end, he would find out who this being was.

The other Invader looked at Gregory with a confused glaze over his eyes. He looked down at his deck and suddenly; the bewildered look turned into one of anger.

"There is no one helping you! You are alone and you cannot defeat an enemy as strong as us. You will not win this last round!" The enemy Invader yelled shaking with rage. His eyes turned red as his teeth clinched in anger and hatred.

"What last round?" Francis asked. "Gregory already beat you two times."

"He cheated and I aim to prove it."

"You would break the Law?" asked Gregory in a voice framed with warning.

Hearing this, one of the Invaders left the field. He didn't get far before the remaining Invader with the stripped chin yelled, "This is no longer a duel but a trial. The other two rounds were questionable wins. This is now a Sudden Death Round. We will duel one more round and I, Amion, will defeat you once and for all, mortal!" The Invader's voice rose with determination that was surrounded in anger.

Gregory knew that the game was over. The young man pretending to be a nobleman didn't even draw a new script. Gregory just wanted the trial to end but he saw that the tall Invader would not give up so easily. Greg sighed and knew that he had to continue. Gregory wanted to keep things simple and just set down his four remaining scripts. The other man, who called himself Amion, set down three of his scripts.

The scripts were turned over. Color drained from the other man's face. All of his points had turned into zeros! He didn't even wait for Gregory to reveal his scripts before running after the first older Invader.

Gregory turned around to face Francis and said, "We need to go warn Samuel and the others about the Invaders. They are heading towards the camp." They began to walk towards camp when Francis turned back:

"Don't you want to look at your last scripts?" Gregory slowly turned them over and saw that all of Amion's points had been added to his scripts! There was someone watching over them all. Gregory and Francis had seen it with their own eyes.

**Chapter Thirty-Nine: **

**Greg's Thoughts**

Gregory stood in his room at the nobleman's home. He had spent the day with members of the court explaining to them that the economy would improve if the plight of the workers were changed. The other men still believed that their lives were not connected to the workers. The workers of France carried the backload of the country while the rich seemed to get all the spoils. Greg was not an extremist – he did not think that the rich should simply grade places with the poor but surly a man who worked hard should be able to feed his family?

He thought of his conversation with Margaret and how she had understood his every word. The passion in her eyes awakened a passion within him as he spoke. It was as if she knew what she was going to say before he said it because her heart was saying the same thing. The others at court seemed to hold onto the ideas that they wanted. They had been taught that they were better than commoners and that they deserved better than them their whole life. Gregory fought down his anger… All these people thought that he was less than them because of where he came from. They would not have given his mother a second glance if they passed her on the street. Still, he knew that the important thing was where he was going and to get a better life was going to be getting a better life for others.

Yelling at the nobles would not help the commoners and that was his goal. He wanted to give them the same chances he had gotten: the chance to go to school and to be able to see what they were really getting into. Bills that are passed will have a meaning for them instead of obscure number or title. They will know what the nobles are doing to them before it happens. Petitions and papers will inform the nobles as to what the public needs instead of the riots that are going on now.

While all these thoughts and frustrations moved through Gregory's head, a messenger came to the door and handed a think envelope with a red court seal to the nobleman. The messenger hurriedly left the room, knowing that he had other letters to attend to and that they absolutely had to be on time! Gregory looked closely at the seal and saw that it was not a mere court seal but the seal of Louis himself. The nobleman's brow was knit in worry and concern as he also studied the envelope and the message within.

"What is it?" The older man just stood next to his ward with his mouth open. "Say something!" Gregory's shout made the servants and the old nobleman jump so he was quickly freed from his trance. "We need a new plan," Greg stared at his mentor blankly. "The girl is gone. She was believed to be kidnapped yesterday but a note was found earlier this morning saying that she ran away with Anthony. The king has placed a search out for her. He thinks that there is an ulterior motive and that she is being taken advantage of."

"I have met the man and would have to agree with his Majesty. The man could not have the girl's best interest at heart. I think that he is evil enough to plant that note."

"You do not think that she is really with Anthony? You know her father admits that they wrote to one another often?"

"She would not leave everything she has for a man she only wrote a few letters to."

"You are still new to the ways of women. Passion can move them to do anything," warned the mentor.

"This girl is different," Gregory demanded. "She would not have run away with a fool like him if she was not forced to. The king is right: His Majesty is not just being suspicious of Spain. Don Anthony is up to something."

The younger man simply nodded.

"I can't argue with you… I just hope you know that you are going to need more proof than that when you accuse the man before the court."

"The Don will not come easily. He knows that he will be going to his death. You are going to have to find him and outsmart him before you will be able to bring him in. A wounded dog will fight to the death. The Don will be even fiercer when he finds that he has nothing to loose."

"What do you know about all this?" There was a dramatic pause: the old man licked his lips and the young student pretending to be a lord rubbed his hands. Neither one of them were sure if they were ready to hear all of this. "If we are going to go all the way through with this project I nee to know what I am up against. You have said how conniving and studious the Don is and we both know that I am going to need all the information that I can get to defeat him. Things will go much faster if you just tell me."

"I knew that it would eventually come down to this but I did not expect it to be so soon."

**Chapter Forty:**

**Flash of Black**

Markus could only think of one other place to look for this father – Anthony's office. It seemed like the only logical place now that he looked back on it. It was the last place he and his father had been together and it seemed to be the only place his father where his father allowed himself to be nervous before the accident. Braine could not shake the feeling that the Don was evil. There was just something off about him. The Don was everything his father was not: sneaky and secretive over even the minutest detail.

Carlos was an honest and caring father. Even when things were bad and the future was scary, he never openly lied to his son. There were times when his father would try to hide things from him – like the fact that money was low – but he never told him it wasn't low either. If he went up and asked his father a question he knew that he would get an honest answer. That was just the type of person his father was. It was in him when he was born. Don Anthony must have been born with the same kind of determination to cause mayhem. Braine watched him stand in the middle of the street while the smoke billowed around him. He seemed to look at the destruction with wonder and awe – almost a sick joy. This man had all the right things going for him: He was a little mad, really angry, and extreme political.

Anthony knew all the tricks to this strange business that Marcus and his father did not understand. The sad thing was that he knew he had the control and relished in it. He loved every second that he was in control. It seemed like an intoxicating mixture of giddiness and obsessive-compulsiveness took over him as he delved into the very lives that only meant something when they were in his hands.

Anthony turned up the street and into his new office building. He smiled when he saw something there in the shadows next to his desk, which is not a normal thing for most men to do. Anthony smiled because he knew why the man in the shadows was there. He was no man at all. He was the thing that used to be Braine's father, the monster that lived inside of him. The thing began to make a clicking and chilling sound that seemed to come from the bottom of his throat.

"Good, Good," Anthony murmured as he soothed his new pet. "The job is done. All I have to do is wait and then, you shall go out on another errand…"

Anthony smiled an evil smile as the images of the actions that were about to take place ran through his head. Carlos had refused to do things like this when he had control of his body but now the body belonged to the thing that Anthony had created. Carlos could not stop the actions that the thing did but Anthony liked to think that Carlos was still lost in his body somewhere, watching the ultimate betrayal take place.

Anthony felt like his life was not complete unless other people were as miserable as he was. Yes, the nobleman smiled constantly, but that did not mean that he was always happy. Anthony felt that there was not enough happiness to go around the world. If some people could not be happy, why should anyone be happy? It is not fair to let some people have a treasure if others cannot… _Unless that one person is the strongest_, Anthony reminded himself. The strongest always won and Anthony needed to make sure that the true winner would be himself.

**Chapter Forty-One:**

**Marcus' Discovery**

Marcus had to run back to the manor because he had been gone for several hours now. Another servant said that he would cover for Marcus but the boy knew that the servant's patience would not last forever. He ran down the familiar streets that he and his father had trod on. It seemed like Marcus had not seen these streets in years. Everything about them had changed during the riots that had taken place during the last few days. Tears filled Marcus' eyes as he realized how his own life had changed just as quickly.

He wanted to turn around again and continue searching for his father but he knew that he could not. He needed a safe place to bring his father once he was found and the Lady's house was the safest place he knew. He had to keep working there for himself and his father. Finding his father would be wonderful but where could he hide him if he did not have the manor? Even a sneaky man like Anthony would never suspect that Carlos and Marcus were hiding in a rich noble's home. Still, how could Marcus take care of Carlos? Marcus' new roommate would hate to have another person crammed into the tiny room with them. There was only one way that would allow Marcus and his father to stay safe.

Marcus walked through the servants' back entrance of the house with a new reason in life. He needed to do his best at the work to thank the Lady and her father for helping him and so that he could earn the privilege of having a big room. Marcus' roommate had told him that only the hardest workers got their own rooms with a large fireplace and a real bed but the room has never gone to a new worker. Still, the room would be large enough for both himself and his father in live in comfortably and the room would be in the manor. So, if Carlos needed Marcus while he was working he could just sneak down here to see him and help him heal from his illness.

Marcus prayed that his father was safe even though the monster had taken over his body and hoped that they would meet again before the real Carlos was gone forever. The best doctors in the country would come to a Duke's house even if it was just to treat a servant. They would come to help his father because of his position in the Duke's house. Marcus would save his father by working hard and getting doctors and they would know what to do because they were the best doctors.

Thoughts of glory and healthy made sprouts of happiness burning Marcus' soul because of the rapturous ambition he now felt. He knew he could save his father and he knew how to do it! He was so caught up with the excitement and happiness of all of his musings that he almost forgot to get back into work! Luckily, his roommate did cover for him and the other servants felt sorry for Marcus. They knew that he was only a child – and a lost one at that and they wanted to help him. Maybe Marcus could be new and get the large room with the help of all these people. Who would not want to help a lost boy find his father?

The kitchen crew agreed to ask the delivery workers who traveled up and down the rivers if they had seen a man of Carlos's description. The other boys, the butler's two sons, agreed to take turns covering for Marcus when he went out looking for his father. The boys had worked in the manor for years and they new the tricks to not getting noticed. Still, they needed some resolution to this deal: Marcus could not leave for more than two hours each week. Lastly, but most importantly, the maids agreed to let the mistress know that Marcus needed a big room and why. The Lady did not decide who received the room but she was always kind to the servants and seemed to have some sway over the decisions.

Marcus tried to continue with his work as if everything were normal but he could not help himself from asking the cooks if they had heard anything every time he was near the kitchen. The cooks warned him that if he kept asking and volunteering for assignments that would lead him to the kitchen, the Duke would get suspicious and might fire him.

"Why would he fire me for talking to you?" He asked innocently.

"It's not that you talk to us," the head cook, a large woman with a greenish face explained. "Servants have been known to go into the kitchen and take some sweet cakes. If the master thinks that you are grabbing a sweet cake each time you come in here than he may get upset."

Marcus nodded at her words even though he was not sure that he understood. He agreed that he would stay away from the kitchen for a while so that he would not get in trouble. He would never get the room if the Duke fired him! The room was now one of his main goals, second only to that of finding his father. Several servants told Marcus that the chances of him getting the room were slim but he knew that he could do it: He had to at least try… for his father because he could do anything.

He walked to the yard to finish his chores, not really thinking about anything particular, when his eyes caught a quick blur… It was a movement so intensely fast that no shapes appeared. The perpetrator was a mere shadow: it had no shape or form. Marcus feared and a ghost or beast of the night had run into the manor's grounds and was now stalking him. Marcus could not accurately describe what the creature was but he could say what it was not: the shadow moved with in-human speed. What ever the thing was it could not be human.


End file.
